


to the end of the world (a moment with you)

by nxpenthe



Category: LOONA (Korea Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Androids, Animal Technology Hybrids, Artificial Intelligence, Bio Tech Universe, F/F, Serial Killers, people will be added when introduced - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-16
Updated: 2019-07-30
Packaged: 2020-06-29 12:06:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 19,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19829872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nxpenthe/pseuds/nxpenthe
Summary: hyunjin never stays anywhere for long. (not after heejin.)yeojin never did trust anyone. (only haseul was the exception.)all kim hyunjin wants is to be left alone. but, when jo haseul is murdered by a serial killer known only by the name of 'fallen angel,' yeojin comes barreling into her life.things only worsen when an encrypted code sets the nation's most powerful industry against the them.





	1. Luna

**Author's Note:**

> the setting is inspired loosely by the novel leviathan by scott westerfeld + brave new world by aldous huxley.  
> other inspirations come from ex machina, paprika, snowpiercer, upgrade etc.
> 
> beta'd by gaywrongs (i owe u my life)
> 
> an ongoing murder mystery sci-fi. a fic i desperately want to see to the end.

Hyunjin holds Heejin’s hand as they continue the steady climb up Achasan. It’s a relatively small mountain near the edge of the city where renovations had stopped in favor of the more industrial South Seoul. Nevertheless, it held the charms of the past before technology had become so integrated with their lives; the trails are still maintained, rock stairs in favor of metal for a natural appeal, though silver signs and railings speckled the trail on more treacherous paths. The stars have gathered near the summit, finally visible as the smog had cleared in the last decade, fine dust eaten by the pigeons remastered to shoot out clean air as they flew above, swallowing the impurities that remained.

  
( _“We’re breathing in pigeon farts,”_ Hyunjin had said jokingly once, only to have water thrown in her face by an annoyed Heejin.)

  
The weather isn’t too hot, but summer had settled in, permanent humidity dampening the air. It makes Heejin’s palm sweaty, but Hyunjin doesn’t mind. 

_  
_ _(She would do anything for Heejin after all.)_

  
“How much further?” Heejin groans, audibly tired, her feet staggering as she attempts to clamber up one of the large rock steps. Hyunjin, in contrast, glides up the stairs with ease, her legs barely feeling the burn of aching muscles – years of athletic training had trained her well.

She lets go of Heejin’s hand, jumping onto one the step and reaching forward to wrap an arm around Heejin’s waist to hoist her up. 

  
“Almost.”

  
Heejin frowns, using the back of her hand to wipe the sweat from her forehead, “Can we take a break?”

  
“Don’t give up just now, Heekie,” Hyunjin laughs, hearing the pout before she could even see it through the darkness of the night, “We’re almost at the top. It’s worth it – I promise.”

  
“If it’s not, I’m pushing you off the side so you can roll back down,” Heejin grumbles, though her feet sluggishly continue their pace.

  
Hyunjin chuckles again, rolling her eyes dramatically as she bounces up another rock. 

  
When they eventually reach the summit, Heejin nearly collapses onto Hyunjin’s shoulders, too exhausted to smack her as she normally would. Her lips are barely open, sucking the thin air greedily as her nostrils flair. Strands of black hair cling to the side of her face, sweat soaked back pushing against Hyunjin’s own gross arm. But Hyunjin doesn’t mind.

  
Not when Heejin is illuminated by the full moon above, ethereal and beautiful.

  
( _God, she’s so damn beautiful._ )

  
“Stop staring,” Heejin mumbles as she lifts her head up from her shoulder, breaking Hyunjin out of her trance. A light tinge of pink is splashed against her pale cheek, and the fluttering in Hyunjin’s chest only worsens. “I look gross and sweaty right now.”

Hyunjin laughs again, giving a toothy smile. “Yeah, you definitely look better than you smell though.”

  
She dodges the swipe sent her way by a sputtering Heejin, light feet dancing away to the wooden rail that ran along the mountain’s cliff, a single barrier that separated her from the shining lights of the city below. Heejin stumbles in quickly after, body catapulting in an attempt to tackle Hyunjin – the latter is quick to catch her midway, arms wrapping around Heejin’s slender waist to hold her close as she twists her body around so she’s standing behind the girl’s smaller form, nuzzling her from behind as she places her chin in the crook of Heejin’s neck. 

  
She watches as Heejin’s delicate features shift from squealing in surprise to gaping in awe, transfixed by how her lips turn upwards so quickly – how her eyes light up almost as bright as the sight before them. 

Seoul at night is beautiful. The continuously moving lights of the city that never seemed to sleep, shining and sparkling in mimicry of the stars that were barely visible above. There in the center of the city stood the tall skyscrapers of the New Era – all the beautiful glistening colors that swirled and danced, merging yellow to green to blue to orange – vivid. The colors dampened as their eyes traveled closer to the edge, neon and pastel replaced by the soft hues of orange and red emitted by the firefly lamps that dot the streets below, lighting the asphalt as though embers had caught, warming the city in its glow. 

  
“Oh… wow,” Heejin breathes out, no longer struggling. Her hands grip at the rail, neck craning forward to capture the sight in its entirety. Hyunjin braces her arms, ready to catch Heejin if she were to get too close to the edge.

  
“See? I told you it would be worth it,” she grins despite herself, eyes wandering from the skyline of the many buildings to focus on Heejin once more. “And now that the dust problem is getting fixed, it’s prettier now.”

  
Heejin simply nods, still stunned into silence by the sight.

  
“It’s easy finding this place too,” Hyunjin continues, “It’s my favorite spot. And since you’re my favorite person, I suppose I can share the secret with you.”

  
She gets a laugh that warms her heart as a response. Heejin’s head falls back slightly to press against her own, cheek resting atop the crown of her head. 

  
“And what’s your secret?”

  
Hyunjin points up. 

  
Heejin’s eyes follow.

  
“The moon?”

  
Hyunjin nods, “The moon. For some reason it’s always in the same place – it doesn’t make any astronomical sense, but it just… stays there, every full moon.” Nudging Heejin’s right hand off the railing, she uses the tip of her nail to drag instructions against the other’s palm, Heejin’s skin now a makeshift map. “Start on the east entrance path of Achasan, and just follow the moon until it’s straight above you. That’s how you get here. Easy, right?”

  
Heejin hums. She traces the path Hyunjin had drew on her palm, following the same invisible lines on her skin. Once she’s reached the end, Heejin finally turns around, the action slow and deliberate. 

  
Smiling eyes greet her own as Hyunjin straightens, head tilted downwards ever so slightly to match the girl’s gaze. 

  
“So,” Heejin says, her voice a whisper despite the stillness of the night, “If I follow the moon, will you be there?”

  
The world rotates on an axis, and yet for this single moment, the center had changed, pivoting so Heejin and the moon had become the only gravity that held Hyunjin in place. In this moment, with Heejin in her arms looking up at her with the galaxies and stars shining in her eyes, with the sparkle of the beautiful city glistening behind her, Hyunjin feels whole. A supernova explodes in her stomach as she is consumed by love, of being loved, of loving – she’s completely enveloped by Heejin.

  
“Yes.”

  
It’s a breathless reply.  


Heejin shines, bright, powerful, ethereal.

  
“Then you’re my moon.”


	2. the funeral

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hyunjin hates funerals.
> 
> She’s only ever been to two, but she hates them nevertheless.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: For the purposes of this fic, everyone’s aged upwards. Yeojin is 17, Hyunjin/Heejin 24, Haseul 26

Three years later.

_Jo Haseul, a researcher at YYxY and renowned AI specialist was found slain in her laboratory at YYxY headquarters._

_  
It is said to be the work of a serial killer known to the public as “Fallen Angel.” A body could not be retrieved due to the accompanying fire that occurred after the explosion of YYxY’s AI laboratory. However, skeletal remains indicate Jo’s death._

_  
This is thought to be the second murder of the year, and the ninth in total by the serial killer. Less than three months ago, another victim, also a specialist in Neurology at KAIST was found murdered in his office._

_  
Seoul metropolitan police are currently investigating the series of murders that started from 2XXX. If any information is available regarding the cases, please contact 0XXX-XXXX-XXXX._

  
\--

  
“Sad, ain’t it? She’s – _was_ – a young thing, pretty too.”

  
Hyunjin grunts, noncommittal at best. She slides her bike helmet off her head, shaking to loosen the knotted strands of hair before running a hand through to set into place.

  
Her manager, a portly and unattractive man who goes by the name of Mr. Oh, sits behind the counter, taking large bites out of a fried chicken that Hyunjin’s certain should have gone into the box she just delivered, but she doesn’t say anything. Especially since she’s offered a piece (which she gladly shoves into her mouth) – they’re accomplices now, and besides, the people she delivered to skimped her of a tip so it’s karma really.

  
Grabbing a stool from the side, she slides it across the floor to sit on, taking another portion of chicken. Glancing at the television, Hyunjin watches quietly as Jo Hasuel’s name flashes across the screen a couple of times before a pretty announcer dressed in white takes her place; _“murder”_ is the only word she catches before she’s distracted by the smell of fries that Mr. Oh brings from the kitchen.

  
“Slow day?” she asks between mouthfuls of fries and chicken – they’re good, definitely better than some of the bigger chains she’s ordered from.

  
“It’s just an off hour,” Mr. Oh waves his hand, giving a small chuckle, “We’re much more popular than the other chicken places around here.” Though his portly appearance and narrowed eyes give for an intimidating form, the kindness that radiates from his smile offsets the rather threatening visage. Hyunjin likes to think of him as a bear, large and lumbering, threatening only when set off by the occasional drunken customer. He’s good to her, too, letting her eat whatever was left, and splitting wages evenly between all those who work underneath him.

  
Out of her many number of jobs, she thinks this might be her favorite.

  
The television rolls into some commercial about coffee, an attractive celebrity Hyunjin doesn’t recognize taking the place of Haseul’s professional photo on screen.

  
“Turns out she has a little sister,” Mr. Oh says, spitting out a small bone from the chicken into the trash next to him. “They were orphans or something. Sad.”

  
“Sad,” Hyunjin echoes, her teeth working through another piece of chicken.

  
\--

  
The world had stilled exactly three years ago. Its wonder had fled, replaced with the cruelty of adulthood.

  
Hyunjin had dropped out of college, her dreams of being a pro-athlete shot with her injured right knee, and her second inclination to working as a zoologist stilled along with all motivation to continue studying. She and her father spoke very little nowadays, the occasional message she traded with him kept them in enough contact without ever needing to face one another in person.

  
She, instead, spends her days alone, working odd jobs and finding new ones whenever she feels the need to move on.

  
Hyunjin never stays anywhere for too long.

  
Bidding goodbye to Mr. Oh, who is now rather overwhelmed by a crowd of drunken college students who decided to pack the place with a group of fifteen, Hyunjin jumps onto her motorcycle and drives back to her apartment in the Borders.

  
The normally filled streets are relatively empty at one in the morning. The lone police car dots the side, a checkpoint to check for alcoholic drivers, accompanied only by the light of the city and firefly lamps that color the streets. She rides from the streets of South Seoul down the highway all the way to the edge of the Han River, opting to stop only for a bite of food near the idyllic riverside from a 24-hour street vendor before continuing her descent.

  
A car zooms past her on the bridge, the driver clearly distracted by the phone in his hand. Hyunjin grimaces, slowing to avoid a possible accident before noticing the little greyish silver tips that sprout from the front and back bumpers of said vehicle – a bat car. One of the newest models too.

They’re strange little things, infused with the properties of a bat that allow for absolute perception of the surroundings. It uses echolocation to track the objects, projecting a constant sound that remains too pitched for the ears of most animals – humans included – and bounces back to project a view of the surroundings so the automatic driving system can take control. It is the perfect accident-proof car. Or at least, that’s what YYxY advertises.

  
Hyunjin crinkles her nose, gripping the handles of her motorcycle harder as she leans forward against the wind, straining her ears to hear beyond the roar of the engine and the splash of the sea for the supposed echolocation.

  
Nothing.

  
Perhaps YYxY is onto something after all. 

  
Strange though, she thinks, watching as the bat car zooms further ahead of her, its owner still preoccupied by the device in his hand, to see such an expensive thing so close to the Border.

  
\--

  
Exiting South Seoul, Hyunjin enters North Seoul. The two places are separated by the Han River that cuts perfectly between the city; the South sparkles and shines behind her, filled by artificial light and innovation. YYxY’s headquarters, however, stands above it all, the spiral tower tip almost high enough to touch the moon. A whopping 140 stories, the YYxY headquarters had beaten the previous tallest building (the Lotte World Tower) by seventeen stories, and remained strong, impervious to both nature and people – and with its construction came the New Era.

  
South Seoul became the new hub of technology and invention, YYxY’s new biotechnology the new craze as it solved anxieties of both environmentalism and invention in one fell swoop; they are the new face of South Korea, another addition to the increasing monopolies. North Seoul, however, remained impervious to change, opting to adapt slowly to the new wave of modernization. Firefly lamps – lights imbued with the flare of the night bugs – are popular in North Seoul for their natural aesthetic, but the other inventions had failed to catch on with the older generation that resided in the area.

  
They prefer the traditions of the past – the nature, the history, the mountains. Hyunjin can’t blame them for not wanting to move on from memories.

  
(She remains after all.)

  
Passing the sliding hills and narrowed streets of North Seoul, Hyunjin exits out the usual path, silently thanking the strengthening lights of the firefly lamps as they glow an illustrious yellow in every shadow that creeps its way into the road. Eventually, she enters the Border.

  
It’s a decrepit place at best, with dingy buildings half falling apart dotting the edge of the metropolitan city. If South Seoul represents the future, and the North the past, the Border stands as the ugly visual of waste that cultivates in the present; it always smells of piss, and the inhabitants, though friendly, are often off their rockers, ending up in squalor for one reason or another. Perhaps they are criminals, perhaps they lost everything in a fire, perhaps they were simply born outcasts – no one sticks their nose in personal business, she opts to do the same (then again, Hyunjin doesn’t particularly care to begin with).

  
Riding past a squatter who’s been there since the beginning of the week, Hyunjin wheels her motorcycle into the rundown shed that her apartment building calls a garage, careful to lock the thing with both her fingerprints and physical bike chains before closing the shed behind her. A ratty blanket is thrown on top to further disguise her vehicle, making it look like a pile of stocky logs than a shiny motorcycle.

  
She enters her apartment with little fanfare, the only security system an asleep security guard that barely stirs as she walks past, and the fingerprint scanner that replaced physical keys a long while back. The lights above her flicker as she walks into her room, throwing her jacket on the single hook of the door. Her barren one bedroom looks especially sad with the stupid light that fails to get fixed even though Hyunjin’s called the landlord at least a couple dozen times for a maintenance request.

  
A single envelope sits on her bed, welcoming her, remaining in the same position she had left it before heading to work hours before.

  
Black, decorated, typed with a fancy cursive that makes the letters barely legible.

_  
In Loving Memory Of_

_Jo Haseul_

_2XXX – 2XXX_

  
She’s not quite sure why she got the invitation considering she hasn’t talked to anyone since she dropped out, but perhaps Haseul had thought of her from the dead. She and Heejin had been close after all, and Hyunjin herself had been fond of the elder before everything went to shit.

_  
(Maybe Heejin had told her to send it.)_

  
Hyunjin sighs, tossing the envelope to the side. The light catches on the laminate, Jo Haseul’s name mockingly bright as silvery light reflects from the letters.

  
Maybe she will go. Maybe she won’t.

  
\--

  
“It’s the same story as yesterday,” Mr. Oh says with another sigh. Hyunjin quirks a brow, opting for the man to continue as she hands him the cash from her recent delivery.

  
He points to the TV screen that’s turned on to the news. Jo Haseul’s face is throw up with the words _“Child Genius, AI Expert”_ scrolling beneath. A couple who sits nursing a bottle of soju pay the television no mind as they giggle about something between them, but a lone man sitting near the exit watches the screen intently.

  
Hyunjin frowns. There goes her plan to shut the thing off completely.

  
“Kim Hyunjin, another delivery to North Seoul, near Myeongdong. I’ll have it done by five.”

  
“Sounds good,” she says with a curt nod.

  
The screen flickers, Haseul’s face disappearing to show a teary-eyed girl who vaguely resembles a younger Haseul.

_  
“Her adopted sister, Jo Yeojin, refuses to comment.”_

  
Yeojin? Hyunjin feels her frown deepen, recalling that Haseul wasn’t an only child, and that she indeed did have a small girl that came from the same foster care as her – Heejin often babysat her when she was free and Haseul working, and Hyunjin had met the little girl on occasion.

  
They never really did get along.

  
( _“I’m not a bean!”_ Yeojin had screamed at her while Hyunjin scowled, _“You’re so damn loud!”_ )

  
She had forgotten all about the girl. Yeojin looks different from when they last met. She looks tired on the screen, deep dark circles evident despite the efforts of the concealer, and her eyes are red and wide.

  
They don’t look like the eyes of a girl who’s grieving.

  
“Hyunjin?” Mr. Oh holds a basket of steaming chicken in front of her. Hyunjin blinks, taken aback only for a moment.

  
“Oh, sorry, I was just watching the TV,” She mumbles a sorry excuse, taking the basket with one hand as she balances her bike helmet with the other. “She has a sister.”

  
Mr. Oh takes a glance at the screen, “Just turned seventeen. She’s the same age as my daughter. Poor thing.”

  
“Yeah,” Hyunjin sighs, “I should probably go.”

  
\--

  
Hyunjin hates funerals.

  
She’s only ever been to two, but she hates them nevertheless.

  
The first was when her mother had passed away when she was eight, slipping into a depression that eventually ended her life at the end of a rope. Hyunjin had walked in after school, unsuspecting hands twisting the doorknob open only to see her mother’s thin, lifeless body swinging from the ceiling fan as though a rag doll that someone had tossed.

  
She had thrown up in the bathroom before calling her father with shaky hands. _(All she remembers is how cold the outdoor hallway of her apartment complex was as she waited for the roar of the sirens to come and save her.)_

  
What she can remember from that time is the funeral: how her mother’s life was decimated into neat little speeches and a decorated box they soon burned.

  
Hyunjin’s father had cried the entire time, rocking himself back and forth nervously from the balls of his feet to his heels in dirty black shoes – the only ones he owned. His fingers, calloused from construction work, gripped tightly into Hyunjin’s shoulder, his strength hard enough to bruise beneath black lace, but she barely noticed. She hardly could see through the incessant stream of tears that robbed her of voice and reason, her own hand fisted so tight that her knuckles glowed white, blood dripping down her palm where her fingernails had broken the skin.

  
But Heejin had been there.

  
Heejin had coaxed her from the darkness of her room where she sheltered herself – Heejin was the gentle glow of the moon that comforted her as she forced her way into Hyunjin’s arms just so she wouldn’t hurt herself anymore. She was the one who helped her study when she started skipping class, the one who forced her to eat, the one who sat patiently as Hyunjin lashed out or screamed or cried.

  
Heejin had been the one to remind her she was loved – her own father had thrown himself into work to bury his grief, and the sight of Hyunjin shriveled in the corner of the apartment, angry and sad and distant, had prompted the man to follow the same path.

  
They spoke little, did little. Her father made breakfast for her as he went to work at dawn, placing the sparse meal on top of the table covered in plastic wrap. She did the same for dinner, leaving a portion for him to eat for whenever he returned (if he returned).

  
They never did fully recover.

_  
(But at least she had Heejin.)_

  
\--

  
The second funeral was the worst.

  
Heejin was twenty-one when it happened.

_  
Murder._

  
Hyunjin had broken down the moment she heard, crying for weeks. The invitation was almost mocking, and in a drunken and drugged state, she breezed through the week leading up to the funeral. She attended, hungover, too broken to cry.

  
But this time, Heejin wasn’t there to hold her hand – she wasn’t there to pull her from the dark crevices of her mind. Heejin wasn’t there to shine a light in the absolute black that consumed her as Heejin was dead.

_  
Another victim of the serial killer._

  
Heejin was in the coffin this time, looking just as ethereal as she had alive, her beauty still gracefully present even in the cold embrace of death. Her body, mauled, barely pieced together from what was described as an ugly murder by every major news channel, was hidden by a blanket of flowers to mask the evil.

  
And in that moment, Hyunjin lost everything.

  
\--

  
With the New Era that came into place, things have gotten faster. More convenient. Easier.

  
Toasters can now take pictures off the Internet and burn them into slices of bread with as much ease as pressing a button, and floors are now perpetually kept clean by cute snail Roombas that sucked up household debris and leave behind shiny surfaces. The subways and trains all changed to the Electric Eels instead, aptly nicknamed EE Line or EE Rapid, depending on the service. They are all changes of a New Era – faster, smarter, cuter.

 _  
A New Era for all,_ Yves, the attractive spokesperson and supposed granddaughter of the CEO of YYxY says on the electric advertisements that line the walls of the subways and on the side of skyscrapers, _a time where people are happier, healthier, and more connected than ever. An Era where everything is better_.

  
Hyunjin thinks it's all bullshit. And as much as she thinks Yves is pretty, she’s also as stupid as the name she gives herself. Because if everything in the New Era is good, then why are funerals still so damn depressing? Where is the happier, healthier, and more connected if the person they all came to see is dead?

_  
(Where is the fun in having to sit through the painful memories of good times past?)_

  
“Thank you for gathering to say farewell to Jo Haseul, beloved colleague, friend, and family.”

  
The priest continues to prattle. Hyunjin quickly stops paying attention, lucid eyes glancing around the small chapel with its opulent decoration and many scriptures hanging from the walls in a display of immense grandeur. Strange, she should be feeling sad, distraught even as Haseul had been a great friend and mentor in university, but all Hyunjin can muster up is a deep sigh from her chest. It’s a type of sigh that gathers in her stomach, exiting her nose through heavy exhale.

  
Bullshit.

  
They’re all full of bullshit.

_  
(Or maybe she just really fucking hates funerals.)_

  
Hyunjin bites her tongue, fingers digging into her thigh through her black pants. She came to pay her respects for a friend – an acquaintance? – but the shadows of the small church are imposing and she’s suffocating.

_  
(Why are the cherubs staring at her? Why are the colors of the stained glass so damn bright?)_

  
She wants to leave.

  
Except she can’t because this funeral is tiny, with only ten people having gathered to say goodbye to Jo Haseul.

  
A couple of older people dot the sparse crowd, but Hyunjin doesn’t bother for more than a quick glance. They’re probably coworkers from YYxY, fellow researchers from what she gathers of slightly hunched backs and thick glasses. Instead she trains her gaze on the figure of a small girl sitting up front, wearing a dress of black cloth and lace that contrasts heavily against pale face. She looks gaunt, hollowed from weariness that her youthful visage would otherwise suggest – it takes Hyunjin a moment, but she realizes that this tired looking girl is Yeojin. The same Yeojin on the television screen. The same Yeojin that sits so rigidly with straightened back and shoulders that Hyunjin suddenly is afraid that a foreign breeze will come trailing in between the heavy metal doors of the chapel and break her in two.

  
Yet her eyes fail to show any indication of grief. She remains playing the role of the emotionally shell shocked sister, just as she had on the news a couple nights prior – nothing more, nothing less.

_  
Why isn’t she grieving?_

  
Hyunjin had been inconsolable during Heejin’s funeral. Yeojin in contrast looks forward with what she can only fathom as narrowed eyes in a form of silent defiance.

_  
Why isn’t she sad?_

  
Haseul had met the same fate as Heejin – cruel death at the hands of a serial killer that slipped through the fingers of authority and shrouds themselves in anonymity. There’s been rumors of possible suspects – a dirty cop, a trained assassin, North Korean spies, etc.; Hyunjin knows them all. She knows that the suspect is trained. She knows that the suspect is of smaller stature, either a scrawny man or a woman. And she knows that the suspect only has one known alias: Fallen Angel.

  
They, whoever they are, kills with rage. That’s what the police report anyways. That the murderer kills with anger as though harboring a personal vendetta against their victims. And once they’re dead, bodies brutally disfigured, the murderer stops. Then they take the victim and place them somewhere pretty, as though apologizing for the ugly death.

  
They never touch the face.

_  
(Heejin’s eyelids were closed post mortem, her lips pulled into a deceptive smile that spoke of gentle sleep more so than horrific murder.)_

  
The main news channel gifted the name of Fallen Angel to the killer. A corrupted spirit so dirtied that they would cause such painful deaths only to grieve after the deed.

  
A guardian who came after only to cause their sorrow.

 _  
Hypocrite_.

  
And yet Fallen Angel had never left behind a body to rot – never left one hidden never to be retrieved. Not once. Even in the most precarious situations, they would leave the body lying in a bed of flowers or floating in a serene lake. Their victims would be situated peacefully. Yet, Haseul of all people, innocent Haseul, who kept mostly to herself was left to perish in the fire that swept up the lab killing no one else but her.

 _  
You’re being stupid_ , she thinks to herself, berating herself for even given an ounce of sympathy for the killer, _trying to reason a serial killer_.

  
And still the unsettling feeling clings to her thoughts.

 _  
Strange_.

  
Hyunjin scoffs mostly at herself, shoving her hands deep into her oversized black jacket. It’s her father’s, torn slightly at the sleeves and threadbare, and smelling of cigarettes around the collar, but it works to keep the cold from sliding against her warm flesh. Besides, she wasn’t much for new clothes anyways. Rent took most of her money, and what little she saved was spent immediately on staying alive. Food costs, and the Internet she relies on for information and entertainment goes for a hefty price out in the Borders.

  
The priest finally finishes with a closing sermon. Hyunjin thinks it’s odd considering that Haseul was never the religious type, and judging from how much she had heard Yeojin drop the Lord’s name in vain since the age of twelve, neither is she. Perhaps it's one of those state-ordained ones since Yeojin’s too young – not like it really mattered to her. She just thinks it’s a little bit weird.

  
“It is time to say final goodbyes.”

  
They all stand. Unlike Heejin’s funeral, Haseul doesn’t have a body that they can say goodbye to. The closed casket full of bones basked in the light of the church shines a dull brown, the laminate of the wood catching swaths of color that bounce from the early evening sun. 

  
Hyunjin approaches the casket regardless, touching the cold wood and mumbling a soft goodbye that sounds hollow even in her own ears. She’s one of the last, having sat in the pews near the back of the chapel, and lingers a little longer with her palm pressed flat against Haseul’s shell.

  
“Shitty of you to leave your sister behind,” she says under her breath, “And Heejin’s gone too. So, who’s going to take care of her now, Haseul?”

  
A punch of guilt hits her in the stomach.

  
One of the lights burns a bright red, pulsating on wood. It looks like blood.

  
Hyunjin frowns.

  
“I’ll take care of her?”

 _  
This is what Heejin would promise. She was always too nice_.

  
The red continues to pulsate.

  
She casts Yeojin a look. Yeojin stares back.

  
Hyunjin sighs.

  
“I’ll try to take care of her.”

  
\--

  
Hyunjin ends up accompanying Yeojin to the crematory.

  
It’s more out of obligation and the fact that Yeojin clings onto her as soon as she steps away from the casket. Yeojin is holding tight onto her sleeve, small hands shaking, as though afraid that if she were to let go, Hyunjin would pull away forever, joining the crowd of people that shuffled out the chapel door never to be seen again.

  
“So, you still remember me, huh?” Hyunjin jokes quietly when Yeojin still clings on, the building now clear of people minus the pastor who wanders to assist the workers. Yeojin snaps back, lips pursed together into a tight line.

  
“Yeah. I see you’re still huge.”

  
Hyunjin retaliates before she can stop herself.

  
“And you’re still the size of a lentil bean.”

  
Yeojin sucks in a large breath. Hyunjin frowns, immediately feeling bad for teasing the girl on a day like this. God, maybe only hanging around old men had turned her into an asshole.

  
“Fuck off.”

  
Okay, yeah, she deserved that.

  
Holding back a grimace, Hyunjin quiets as she shuffles behind Yeojin, walking with her to the white van that now stored Haseul’s coffin in the back. They separate for the short ride to the crematory, cutting through the streets of North Seoul with Yeojin in the van driven by a worker who would help burn the casket, and Hyunjin on her motorcycle following closely behind.

  
“How are you doing?” She asks quietly, voice lowered as to avoid shocking the younger girl. Yeojin looks straight ahead at the roar of the flames, arms crossed tightly. A window separates them from the actual crematory site, a couch and water dispenser decorating the sparse room where they could watch the process in peace if they so choose to.

  
“Fine,” Yeojin says.

  
She doesn’t sound fine.

  
Hyunjin doesn’t press. Instead, she opts to stand next to the girl, long lanky arms swaying slightly at her side as she thinks of something appropriate to say. Yeojin remains quiet besides her. Does she think this silence is just as oppressive?

  
Maybe she shouldn’t have come after all.

  
The casket has been replaced by a different sort of crematorium box, something lighter and airy, a flimsy cardboard box at best. The workers had made it large enough to fit a body, though they all know that there’s only a pile of bones resembling a person inside it. Yeojin only flinches as the door of the crematory is flung open, the roar of the flames almost tangible despite the soundproof walls and windows that separate them.

  
Hyunjin opens her mouth to speak. She fumbles for a few moments, thinking of the words to say, only for her to close her lips into a frown.

  
She never was the one people went to for sympathy.

  
( _That was always Heejin’s job._ )

  
The box comes closer, placed onto the slide that would shoot Haseul’s remains into the belly of fire. Hyunjin grimaces.

  
It’s hard not to recall how she broke down when it was Heejin in that box.

  
Feeling her knees weaken from the rush of memories that threaten to slam her brain, Hyunjin falls backwards onto the plush couch behind her. Only a soft release of air spurts into the silent room as her body folds into herself, shaking hands pressed tightly together as her arms rest on top of her knees. She bows her head as the door closes, the box of bones no longer in view.

  
Yeojin soon joins her on the couch.

  
“This is shit,” Yeojin mumbles quietly. Hyunjin almost cracks a smile.

  
“Yeah, it really is.”

  
“Is this how you felt when…?” Yeojin trails off, but they’re both aware of the silent implication.

  
Hyunjin sighs loudly.

  
“Yeah. I was a mess, nothing like you are now. I’m surprised you’re holding up so well.”

  
She turns to the younger girl, mustering up a smile that resembles more of a grimace.

  
Yeojin looks pensively out into the room in front of them, watching the fire lick at the small glass plane of the door that kept it contained. The shape of the box is no longer visible from their tiny view of the crematory. Only yellow and red and orange dance in their vision. “Yeah.”

  
A single clock placed on the right side of the room ticks.

  
“Hey, Hyunjin?”

  
Yeojin continues to stare at the now empty room. Her fingers play nervously on her lap.

  
“Can I trust you?”

  
Hyunjin stiffens.

  
She never sticks around anything for long.

_  
(Not after Heejin.)_

  
Is she trustworthy?

  
Surely, it’s not anything bad. Maybe it has to do with a teenager thing – not that Hyunjin is able to help with that, but, Yeojin is seventeen. Still in high school.

  
God.

  
Yeojin is seventeen.

_  
(She was twenty-one when Heejin died.)_

  
“Sure,” Hyunjin says quietly, trying to reassure herself more than Yeojin, “What is it?”

  
“Haseul’s not dead.”

  
Hyunjin freezes. Her fingers stay wrapped together in her lap.

  
She’s confused.

  
“What?”

  
Yeojin takes another breath.

  
The clock keeps ticking.

  
“Haseul’s not dead.”


	3. the code

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yeojin should know not to trust people. She should know by now everyone leaves – that no one ever keeps their promise.
> 
> No one except for Haseul.

“Jo Yeojin, are you aware of what you’ve done?”  


Yeojin sits with her legs kicking, the balls of her feet barely running against the wooden floor before being kicked back with her toes pointed up. Her arms are tightly crossed across her chest. The only indication of emotion is the small smirk that tilts the right side of her lip upwards in contrast to her placid left, a flash of white teeth visible through a thin smile.

  
“No. What did I do Ms. Young, let me know.”

  
Ms. Young lets out a large sigh. Her arms are folded in replica of Yeojin’s own position, though unlike the cocky smirk that graces Yeojin’s lips, Ms. Young’s jaw is clenched tight, the area where muscle and bone meet hardened into a small ball of stress.

  
“Well, firstly, you have been skipping your classes to hang around in the library computers. I’m not even sure how you got ahold of Mr. Jeong’s account information but using his account to _hack_ the school is not certainly not permitted.”

  
“It was funny though,” Yeojin pipes up, chuckling as she recalls how red-faced Mr. Jeong had gotten once she revealed that his password was actually a name of a popular female character from an online MMORPG she also plays. “You have to admit, looping gay Vines on every computer in the labs was pretty good.”

  
Ms. Young gives another heavy sigh. She looks seconds away from throwing her hands up in the air, admitting defeat – Yeojin would prefer that, really. She made the whole thing obvious for a reason. Let’s be real, if she really wanted to stay hidden and pull this sort of stupid prank, she could have easily used three different VPNs rendering her position anonymous, and she definitely wouldn’t have used her homeroom teacher’s account of all people.

  
(Maybe she should have used Ms. Young’s instead.)

  
“I have no idea what gay ‘ _vines’_ are, but they were not funny in the least.”

  
“What do you mean ‘ _two guys sitting in a hot tub, five feet apart ‘cause they’re not gay’_ isn’t the funniest thing you’ve heard in the New Era? Come on, Ms. Young, that should have at least made you laugh a little bit!”

  
“Jo Yeojin.”

  
Yeojin abruptly stops cackling, stiffening immediately at the sound of her name. The sheer amount of disappointment that laces her principal’s voice hits her harder than she anticipates. Her chest bulks inwards, the previous swell of amusement and pride knocked into submission by the simple utterance of her name – so plain, without any sort of emotion besides heavy frustration. It almost makes her feel bad.

  
Almost.

  
“I’m going to have to suspend you. Skipping class for weeks, disrespecting your teachers, and now this?” Another sigh. “You’re a very bright student, and an intelligent hacker from what I’ve gathered, but we can’t keep letting this happen.”

  
Yeojin gnaws at her lower lip. Her eyes look away from the pretty sparkling ones of her tired looking principal.

  
Ms. Young continues without a moment of hesitation, “Take a moment to cool off. I understand things have been hard for you, but this is no way to act in a school. Not only is it harmful to you, but it’s disruptive to other students. I’m giving you a week.”

  
“Fine,” Yeojin grumbles, stilling her feet. She lets them dangle. Her feet barely touch the floor. “I get it.”

  
“Is there anyone we can call to pick you up? Your sister – is she free?”

  
She snorts. “No. I’ll walk home.”

  
“Are you sure?”

  
“Yeah,” Yeojin frowns, staring at her scuffed shoes. “She’s busy.”

  
A prickly silence takes the air. Yeojin hops off the chair and swings her backpack on before the quiet leads to another round of interrogations. “I’ll see you next week.”

  
“Be careful, Yeojin, stay safe.”

  
She steps out with a final shrug, “Whatever.”

  
\--

  
The walk back to her luxury condominium located in the heart of South Seoul is only a twenty-minute ride on the EE.

She taps her Eel card on the electric gateways and slides through with little resistance. Mentally noting to charge her card the next opportunity, Yeojin takes the stairs down to the platform.

  
The Electric Eel, or EE for short, had replaced subways long ago. Having realized that electricity produced by electric eels could be repurposed, YYxY set their first long-term project to renovate the underground systems of Seoul. What used to be empty chasms of conductive metals rails were pulled out and replaced with charged water – she doesn’t quite know (nor care about) the chemical properties of the water, but it’s a special sort of formula which allows for the renovated system to function solely by using recycled waste water. Either way, the project was a success, and what was formerly known as the Seoul Metro was aptly renamed the Electric Eel.

_  
EE Number Two, bound for Jamsil Station is approaching Bangbae station. Please be mindful of the step._

  
The muffled sound of rushing water pounds from afar. Yeojin tweaks her head slightly to the side to catch the spurts of electricity visible in the distance; little sparks fly from the lively grey of the Eel, hitting the charging stations to power the batteries that supplied electricity to the station.

_  
The doors are now opening._

  
Sliding to a smooth stop, the Eel, visible only by the windows of reinforced glass, wiggles its way open. Quadruple the size of a regular electric eel found in the wild, the EE is artificially made, programmed specifically to stay in specific numbered tubes that followed the tracks of the old system. The flesh of the Eel extends, filling the space and covering any spaces where the charged water may leak as metal clamps onto the skin of the train. Artificial gills extend into ninety degree angles, allowing passengers to exit on the left, and for those waiting to enter on the right in a circulating system; Yeojin stands, careful not to touch the reinforced steel of the gills on either side of her (not out of danger, but simply because she doesn’t like how _warm_ they feel beneath her fingertips), before managing to nab a seat near the tail-end of the Eel.

  
Taking the lull of motion to plug in her headphones, she looks to the left, staring straight at the other side. Unlike old subways, the Eel was safe, foolproof from any sort of derailment as the water and reinforced titanium of the tubes kept the Eel from collapsing either way. Had she sat in the front, Yeojin would have been able to peak out the windows that replaced patches of the Eel’s skin and watch the mouth of the Eel open to swallow food that was replenished between every fifth station of a line.

  
She’s not quite sure what the intricacies are, but it’s just the way things are in the New Era.

  
Technology and animal and humans – they're just all a big ball of something.

  
Letting the music sink into her ears, she leans back, watching as the tail sways back and forth, programmed by the brain that she’s sure is situated in front.

  
Her fingers hover over her phone.

_  
I should tell Haseul._

  
\--

  
The condo is empty.  
  


“I’m home,” Yeojin calls from the entrance, though only the echoes of her voice repeat her greeting. She shuffles in, throwing her stuff onto the couch so Haseul knows she’s back whenever (if she ever does) come home, and stops by the kitchen only to grab a bowl of miscellaneous fruit and BBQ chips before making her way to her room.

  
A Snail Roomba crawls past her feet on her way across the large condo. Large ceiling-to-floor windows that line the living room into the open-floor kitchen fills the room with light, thrown back curtains offering a beautiful view of the city.

  
Stuffing a chip into her mouth, she stops briefly to glance at the large Lotte World Tower to her right, and the YYxY Spiral on her left.

  
Haseul is there somewhere on her left, located deep within the bellies of the Spiral, locked away in some lab.

  
She should be grateful to her adoptive older sister for landing such a prestigious, well-paying job that let her go to a fancy private high school and live in an equally lavish condo for free. She should be really grateful since it pays for the chips she stuffs in her mouth, and all her hacking gear that she has crammed into a corner of her room (one computer was just set on mining crypto-currency). 

  
But she isn’t.

  
She doesn’t like the ugly spiral building.

  
Yeojin doesn’t like it one bit.

  
\--

  
Midnight rolls around before she can even tell.  
  


_Wolfsbane: next week same time?_

  
Yeojin smirks at the message sent by her fellow player and MMORPG legend Wolfsbane. They had just finished a campaign together, having reaped one of the rare drop items.

_  
geguyeo: ofc see u then_

_  
Wolfsbane: cool_

  
Logging out of the MMORPG she’s been playing for the last six hours, Yeojin rubs at her eyes, trying to force them back into focus after having stared at a screen for so long. Reaching into the bowl of chips next to her, she gives the empty bowl full of crumbs a forlorn stare before standing up.

  
Maybe she should walk to the kitchen? Haseul did say she should get at least thirty minutes of exercise a day – well, her wrist and arms just got six hours’ worth, and she went to the bathroom at least twice. A walk to the kitchen would take another three minutes, and if she did the math correctly, should at total a minimum of thirty minutes.

  
Placing her headphones onto the stand next to her, Yeojin hopes onto her feet, stretching her hands above her head before pulling open the door of her bedroom, letting the red stained light soak in.

_  
Red?_

  
Yeojin hesitates.

  
The sun had long set, replaced by the moon hanging, strung between the two giant towers visible from her window. The Lotte World Tower stands tall – powerful.

  
YYxY’s Spiral is colored in a fiery red.

  
Yeojin runs.

  
She trips over the stupid Snail Roomba that only stutters off path momentarily before righting itself, hissing in annoyance. Yeojin ignores the thing, her palms pressed against the glass as she stares.

  
The Spiral is on fire.

  
Haseul.

  
Oh God, Haseul.

  
“Oh my fucking god,” she whispers. Yeojin darts back into her room, hunger momentarily forgotten in a moment of blind panic. Quick fingers speed-dial her sister, free hand fishing for her wallet as she crams her feet into random sneakers. Her phone is pressed against her cheek the entire time.

_  
Your call could not connect –_

  
“Jesus fuck, pick up!”

  
She calls again.

  
They live on the eleventh floor.

  
Yeojin runs all the way down the stairs, skipping steps, stumbling on her own feet only to right herself. She runs and runs and runs until she’s out in the street, hailing a taxi.

_  
Your call could not connect –_

  
“Mister, could you go faster?” Her voice is a panicked whisper, but it sounds like a scream. “Please, I need to get to the YYxY Spiral.”

  
She can’t tell what sort of expression the taxi driver has on, though the shock is evident in his voice. “Kid… don’t you know?”

  
“Mister, _please_. As close as you can get.”

  
The taxi speeds along the still crowded streets of South Seoul. Crowds of people gather around the burning majesty of a building. The news trucks are all visible, and a helicopter circles the air. Slamming her card down harder than it needs to on the tap pay system, Yeojin near rolls out of the still moving car, ignoring the taxi driver’s concerned voice.

  
She speeds down the road, pushing – “Move!”

  
A large man stands in her way, holding a camera.

  
Yeojin near tackles him.

  
“Fucking move! My sister is in there!”

  
Heat from the roaring flames lick at her skin. She feels the burn as she dodges the arms of police officers and bystanders, hoping the fence that keeps the crowd at bay.

  
Another man grabs her jacket, but she pulls free, abandoning the item entirely.

  
“Haseul!”

  
Strong arms quickly scoop her from behind. A man – she has no idea who – holds her tight.

  
She screams.

  
“Get the fuck off! Get the _fuck_ off! My sister is in there!”

  
Yeojin near bites his arm.

  
The man continues his hold, stepping back further from the flames – further from the crumbling building.

  
“Haseul!”

  
She’s crying.

  
“HASEUL!”

  
\--

  
The rest happens in a blur.

  
A medic takes a look at her, shining his flashlight in her eyes. She swipes at him, hissing and cursing, ignoring the throb of the cut that somehow formed on her forehead. He says it’s from the flying debris of the explosion that took place in the YYxY labs.

  
Yeojin thinks he’s full of shit.

  
She sits on the ground outside for who knows how long. The fire was quickly put out by what seems to be a million firetrucks. Most of the gathered crowd dissipate with only the authorities keeping place to help survivors and give interviews.

  
The Spiral still stands tall, only one section massively damaged while the rest remains untouched.

_  
(“They’re all sequestered, locked down airtight to prevent total collapse, regardless of the location of the accident. It would be a catastrophe if a building this size falls onto the city – I assure you, YYxY’s Spiral is one of the greatest architectural feats. Its structural integrity is sound, and in a couple of days, we will have the place rebuilt. Thanks to the regenerative properties of the jellyfish BioTech, the Spiral automatically assumes symmetry while the cells quickly grow back.”)_

  
Phone gripped tight between locked fists, Yeojin continues to stare.

  
She’s waiting.

  
Haseul still hasn’t called.

  
“Yeojin?”

  
A soft voice – familiar – calls her from the side.

  
Yeojin whips her head so fast she can feel the whiplash.

  
It’s not Haseul. But it is Jinsol, dirtied and a little scuffed, but alive. Her usual neatly tied ponytail is pulled, blond wavy hair messily cascading down her shoulders. Only a glint of blue scales is visible against pale skin from where she has her hair tucked behind her ears.

  
“Jinsol,” Yeojin scrambles upwards, scraping her hands on the cold asphalt beneath her feet. “Jinsol, where’s Haseul?”

  
Jinsol shakes her head, “I’m sorry Yeojin.”

  
Her blood runs cold. An involuntary shudder takes her from behind, a cold fist grabbing at her legs, locking them into place.

  
“You’re joking.”

  
Jinsol continues to take small steps until she’s standing only an arms length away. “I tried Yeojin. But we work in neighboring labs. The security doors slammed down before I could get to her.”

  
“You’re lying!” Yeojin opens her phone again, pressing the speed dial.

_  
Your call could not connect –_

  
“Fuck!”

  
She falls to the ground, knees pressed against her chest. Deep shuddering gasps grip at her heart, rattling her bones as she throws her phone.

  
“Fuck! What the _fuck!_ She’s not dead – she can’t fucking be dead!”

  
“Yeojin,” Jinsol says softly again, a gentle hand placed on shivering shoulder. “Yeojin… I’m sorry.”

  
“Haseul is all I have!”

  
Desperation claws from her throat, raw and painful. She pushes the tender touch away from her, screaming into open palms. “She’s all I have Jinsol! We’re all we had…”

  
“I know, Yeojin,” Jinsol hovers to the side, staring up at the moon that glows on top of the burnt Spiral.

  
“I know.”

  
\--

  
Yeojin doesn’t remember what happens next.

  
Reporters come to her house, knocking on her door every ten minutes for an interview.

  
The news channels only report the fire.

_  
Serial killer – Jo Haseul – sister – fire – murder._

  
Those five words cycle like an incessant plea, round and round until Yeojin can hear them in her dreams. She wakes up screaming “Fire” only to lie down, hands clasped in mock prayer for any God, deity, spirit to help.

  
She lies back down sobbing the same night, exhaustion lulling her to restless sleep.

  
A single unread message glows on the corner of her monitor.

  
\--

  
It’s day five when she finally checks the message.

  
The Snail Roomba, despite all the profanities Yeojin screams at it, keeps the condo sparkly clean. Jinsol checks on her once a day, staying late to throw the trash, leaving behind a plastic bag full of food each time.

  
Yeojin wants to yell at her to go away, but she uses silence instead. Jinsol is being nice – she knows this – but it still doesn’t make her feel any better.

  
(She couldn’t save Haseul.)

  
“You have a message,” Jinsol says soft and awkward, as though talking to a glass toy more so than a grieving person. Yeojin doesn’t enjoy being treated so delicately, but she lets the blond do as she wishes.

  
( _“Be nice,”_ Haseul had said more than once. _“People are just trying to help.”_ )

  
“I know,” she snaps before she can stop herself.

  
Jinsol flinches once, recoiling. “Uh, sorry? Were you… leaving that?”

  
“It’s probably from my teacher or gaming thing. It’s whatever,” she mumbles, reaching over to her computer mouse to click on it anyways just to get Jinsol to stop staring at her so sadly. “Here. See?”

  
The message pops onto her screen, waking up every inch of the wide monitor. Except there is no message.

  
Only a single attachment is saved automatically to her drive.

  
Yeojin frowns.

  
“Spam?” Jinsol asks, courteous more than curious.

  
She doesn’t answer, fingers too busy moving across her keyboard as she pulls up the attachment. It’s a small script file, something she has to run through Python.

  
Familiar symbols of nonsense run through her screen. Letters taken from different alphabets of new and old, shortcuts and insignia only understood by her and one other person in the world.

  
Except that person is gone.

  
Or she should be gone.

  
Jinsol gives her a concerned glass, unsure of how to interpret the stuttered intake of air. “What is it?”

  
“Nothing.”

  
The words come out more forceful than Yeojin intends. An apology flashes in the downward turn of her lips at the hurt in Jinsol’s eyes, but she keeps her lips pressed together, apprehension and curiosity keeping the small “sorry” from fully leaving her throat. Instead, she turns to the side, switching to a different desktop that held all her gaming applications.

  
“Okay,” Jinsol sighs once more. “I’ll get going then. Know that you can always call me if you need, Yeojin.”

  
“Yeah.” She forces her eyes to stare at the computer screen, opening up the too friendly logo of the MMORPG she hasn’t logged into in almost a week. “Thanks.”

  
Jinsol awkwardly hugs her. Yeojin reciprocates by not shrugging her off like the last couple of days.

  
Only when the door slams shut, the whirring of locks clicking into place, does she return to the Python script.

  
The symbols roll back into place – the script is disjointed in some places, awkward paragraphs and spacing running jagged lines through the code. It looks more like an error message than anything else, but Yeojin keeps reading.

  
She keeps reading because the only other person who can understand this is Haseul.

  
And Haseul is dead.

  
But this code is here.

  
This code – this script – is on her computer, scrolling and scrolling and scrolling.

  
Information piles forth. Yeojin can’t read fast enough to keep up. Her brain stumbles, dusty – it had been years since they last used this code – it had been years since they started living together, and the code had been forgotten, no longer in need of use as the two had no secrets between the them.

  
But it’s here.

  
Alive.

_  
F-I-N-D._

  
Yeojin sucks in a breath.

_  
M-E._

  
The script stops.

  
The straight black line pulsates, blinking in and out at the end, waiting.

_  
Find Me._

  
\--

  
Hyunjin stares – wide eyes are round in disbelief.

  
Yeojin feels herself stiffen, eyes narrowed defensively.

  
“Hyunjin, I’m _not_ lying!”

  
Hyunjin scoffs.

  
“Sure, you’re not! That’s some kind of bullshit.” The older girl growls, a hand held up pre-emptively. She looks ready to strike, the muscles of her arm tensed and pulled back ever so slightly – a snake, curled, ready to lash out at any opportunity.

  
Yeojin swallows, scooting backwards until her back hit the other end of the plush couch they’re sitting on. The roar of the fire ends as the ashes and bones are excavated by careful hands – Yeojin doesn’t spare them a glance, opting to continue her gaze on Hyunjin’s coiled form.

  
She can see her hands shaking.

  
“Hyunjin,” she says again, voice trembling. The fear – desperation – is palpable, “ _Please_. I don’t know who else I can trust. You want to find the killer, too, don’t you? Fallen Angel – the one who… the one who…”

  
“Shut up!”

  
Yeojin knows she’s crossed a line. Apology wells in her throat, something hot gathering in the corner of her eyes.

  
“Hyunjin I –“

  
Hyunjin’s chest heaves – up and down and up and down, rapid. Angry. “Stop fucking _talking_!”

  
( _“She’s been through a lot,”_ Haseul had said, thoughtful, _“She’s a lot like you.”_ )

  
She’s scary when she’s sitting, but terrifying when she stands.

  
Hyunjin has always been tall. She’s always been strong. And when she stands above her, towering over with fists balled to her side, Yeojin is afraid.

  
She’s afraid of being hit.

  
She’s afraid of being yelled at.

_  
(She’s afraid of being left alone.)_

  
“I’m sorry.”

  
The words are soft, barely audible. The tension in the room heightens until Yeojin feels suffocated, vision cloudy. “I’m sorry.”

  
“I’m sorry,” she repeats the words like a prayer, head bowed between clasped hands. “I’m sorry.”

  
Tears, warm and fast, slide down her cheeks.

  
“I’m sorry.”

  
(It’s the second time she’s cried since the first night.)

  
“I’m sorry.”

  
Hyunjin leaves before Yeojin can lift her head, her lips still whispering the words.

  
Only a strip of paper with a phone number, hastily written, is left crumpled on the cushion.

  
\--

  
“Thanks,” she mumbles, rubbing her eyes. “For driving me back home.”

  
Jinsol shrugs, eyes kept on the road. “It’s fine. Don’t worry about it – sorry I couldn’t be at the funeral.”

  
“It’s fine.” _She’s not dead anyways_ , Yeojin wants to say, but stops, recalling how Hyunjin had reacted.

  
“Are you okay?”

  
“Do I look okay?”

  
Jinsol gnaws on her bottom lip. “No.”

  
Yeojin stifles a broken laugh, “Great.”

  
“Yeojin –“

  
“I’m fine.”

  
Jinsol quiets.

  
“Okay.”

  
The drive back is silent. The awkward air is oppressive, but Yeojin is too tired.

  
She’s too tired to argue. Too tired to say much except another grumbled thank you and apology all wrapped into one mangled sentence before she hops onto the elevator to the eleventh floor in record time. The reporters, finally bored with the girl whose entire family died, are no longer visible.

 _  
Good riddance_.

  
She presses her thumb to the lock, waiting for the automatic door to slide open.

  
“I’m home,” she says.

  
Only the Snail Roomba accidentally bumps into her foot.

  
\--

  
She should know not to trust people. She should know by now everyone leaves – that no one ever keeps their promise.

  
No one except for Haseul.

  
Haseul, who grew up with her in the same orphanage. Haseul who treated her as a real sister for as long as she could remember – they laughed together, played together, cried together. Haseul was there when she lost her first tooth (she was the one who snuck a shiny hundred won coin underneath her pillow in the middle of the night when she thought Yeojin was asleep). Haseul was the one who held her up whenever she fell, teaching her a charm to wish all the pain away (Yeojin still uses it to this day). Haseul was the one who thought of the code, a language only they could understand, sharing secrets beneath the ears of cruel children and strict adults. 

  
Haseul was the one who grew up too fast – too soon – her genius freeing her from the confines of the orphanage earlier than Yeojin.

  
And yet, she stayed back, working in this stupid city with its stupid people, for her.

_  
(Haseul had taken her in, had given her the last name Jo._

_  
They were family.)_

  
“Ohana means family, and family means no one ever gets left behind, stupid bitch,” she mumbles, recalling the Disney movie that she had been forced to watch repeatedly when Heejin had babysat her years ago.

  
Heejin.

  
God.

 _  
Heejin_.

  
Yeojin fumbles. Her fingers press the wrong key.

_  
Delete._

  
“Fuck.”

  
If Haseul were here, she would have chewed her out for repeating the curse.

  
“Idiot sister, getting fake killed.”

  
The code scrolls through again. She doesn’t understand most of what it says, but the final letters spelling out “F-I-N-D-M-E” are as clear as day.

  
Haseul is alive.

  
And Yeojin is going to find her.

  
Her thoughts wander to Hyunjin.

  
She hadn’t seen her in three years – not since Heejin died. Not since she dropped out of university, hiding in the recesses of the city, unseeing and unheard. Frankly, she wouldn’t have been surprised to hear if Hyunjin had died somewhere, alone, forgotten.

_  
(That’s just the type of person she is.)_

  
Yeojin’s fingers still completely.

  
She wants to type – she just can’t. Not with the thought of Hyunjin out there, alone.

  
The crumpled phone number sits untouched on the corner of her desk. The numbers bleed together, scratched together by leaking ink that connects all the lines.

  
Yeojin punches them into her phone.

_  
Hey._

  
She deletes it.

_  
it’s yeojin_

  
Delete again.

_  
are u ok?_

  
She almost misses the send button.

  
The breath in her throat catches. Anxiety fills her chest.

  
The reply is almost instant.

  
\--

_  
Where to, pipsqueak?_


	4. the android (pt. 1: post mortem)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nothing ever goes well for her in South Seoul.

Hyunjin doesn’t dream too often.  
  


It’s not so much she doesn’t want to, but they don’t come to her as frequently. Her sleeps are shallow at best, never dipping below the specified line – it made for a handy tool, living in the Borders. Though the residents treat one another with respectful privacy, the same courtesy failed to extend into personal space and items; all were up for grabs unless bolted to the floor, and even items that were  _ actually _ nailed sometimes had the entire slab of underneath concrete cut and taken.

  
It happened with Hyunjin’s first motorcycle, the first and last time she had carelessly left it chained with only a single U-lock and fingerprint scanner, and it happened with many of her neighboring apartments where loud shouts of anger mixed with annoyance and other sounds of a scrabble. Picklocks were abundant, and any door, inhabited or not, became more of a challenge than a deterrence.

  
Hyunjin stays alert even in sleep. A switchblade is placed always at arm’s length, and though she’s not much of a fighter, she could hold her own if asked.

  
(No one has bothered her much though, not after the first month. She had fended off the bandits as best she could, and her near empty room hardly made for a popular place to raid when other houses closer to the edge of North Seoul provided better goods to swipe.)

  
But for the first time in years, Hyunjin dreams.

  
She dreams of Heejin – the usual culprit of the perpetual guilt that plagues her thoughts. She dreams of Haseul this time too, a memory of the past that culminates into an ugly, ugly blackness that tints the edges of the otherwise bright dream of college and laughter.

  
She dreams of Yeojin, smaller than the person at the funeral, and a large fire.

  
She dreams of it all before they manifest to something foul –

  
And then she wakes up.

  
Hyunjin startles, a ray of sun hitting her face accompanied by the soft chirping of birds outside her window. She wakes up to sweat soaking her forehead, her clothes sticking uncomfortably to pale skin and shaking hands.

  
“Fuck,” she mumbles, checking her phone for the time only to realize it had died, the batteries having drained from her long trip back home from South Seoul. She plugs it in, glancing at the single clock in her room before dashing to take a quick shower before work.

  
\--

  
Another day passes without a response. Hyunjin is alone with nothing but the moonlight as company in her solitary apartment.

_  
Haseul isn’t dead. _

  
Hyunjin stares upwards at the spinning ceiling fan. This one looks too flimsy to carry the weight of a human body.

_  
Haseul isn’t dead _ .

  
If Haseul isn’t dead, then is Heejin?

  
No, she had seen Heejin’s body. She had seen her face – the peaceful destruction. She had cried and cried and cried over Heejin.

  
Pulling the blankets over her shoulder, Hyunjin squeezes her eyes shut, trying to forget the words that spin endlessly in her thoughts.

_  
Haseul isn’t dead. _

_  
Then where is she? _

  
And Heejin?

  
\--

  
Yeojin still hasn’t called.

  
Hyunjin almost regrets giving her number to the smaller girl.

  
She wonders if she’s doing okay.

  
They had parted badly after all.

  
Maybe Yeojin would never text.

  
\--

  
She’s in North Seoul when her phone pings.

  
Having just finished her last delivery of the day, Hyunjin had opted to take her complimentary basket of chicken, fries, and a bottle of water to the riverside.

  
The Han River laps gently at the beach where children and families and couples gathered. It’s later in the day, but school is out, and the evening sun had retreated to let the oncoming nightfall just cool enough for people to hang about the riverbed.

  
(The river is now clean too, another product of YYxY. Similar to the cleaning pigeons in the air, a fish had been manufactured to eat the pollutants from the river and clean up the water to make it safe to swim in.)

  
She’s dozing off slightly in the last rays of sun when her phone vibrates.

  
A text is from an unknown number.

_  
are u ok? _

  
Hyunjin has to stop from smiling at the lackluster message.

  
The decision is instantaneous.

_  
Where to, pipsqueak? _

  
\--

  
South Seoul has always been a source of discomfort in her life. Hyunjin’s lived in the North part of the metropolis all her life, and any interactions she’s had in the South had been through soccer, and soccer alone.

  
(Not even Heejin had been able fully meld into that portion of her life.)  
  


But she doesn’t play soccer anymore. She can’t.

  
Hyunjin crosses the toll easily, her government issued motorcycle ID clicking through the tolls of Jamsil Bridge without a single moment of rest. Her right knee twitches involuntarily at the sight of the skyrise buildings – the view of the Olympic dome in the distance, opposite of her given destination.

  
Locking her legs tighter to the sturdy body of her rumbling motorcycle, Hyunjin swerves, bending closer to the ground in an unnecessarily sharp turn that earns her the honks of a couple of surrounding cars. A bat car swerves hastily to escape the reckless driver, and Hyunjin grins behind her helmet at the side of fumbling automobiles and slowed traffic.

  
It’s a good distraction from the dull pain in her joints.

  
Ignoring the blare of another horn that blasts too close to her face, Hyunjin swerves back into the appointed bike lane. A man sticks his head out the window, a fist waving angrily in the air.

  
She ignores him. Instead, she presses her body to the motorcycle, revving the engine to a speed that would most definitely get a speeding ticket sent to her house the following day.

_  
CCTVs be damned _ , she can only hope that the quality of said cameras are too blurry to catch the license plate of her bike.

  
(But there’s no such things as mistakes in YYxY’s New Era of technology.)

  
The manic drive slows as she hits the pedestrian roads of South Seoul; her speedy brake almost bucks her off the motorcycle entirely at the first intersect, but she manages to hold on (though her breathe catches in her throat as she feels the back wheel lift off from the ground a little too high).

  
Neon signs flicker in her path, colors further saturated against the darkened black of night. The firefly lights that dot North Seoul in a dream-like haze are all but gone from the brightly lit streets of South Seoul; neon on top of neon on top of neon – greens and blues dot her path, and the unnatural glare of pink that dances in the periphery distracts her momentarily enough to cross a red light.

_  
Shit. Another ticket _ .

  
Horns blare incessantly behind her, though the sound quickly retreats as she swerves quickly into a cramped alleyway to avoid the angry screams of petulant taxi drivers.

  
Nothing ever goes well for her in South Seoul.

  
The two tickets that are to inevitably be waiting on her door mat at home, hastily stuffed through the mail slot in her door is proof of it.

  
The drive feels far too long for her rapidly increasing heartbeat.

  
\--

  
If Hyunjin lives in squalor, Yeojin lives in a castle.

  
The monumental building made more of fortified glass than of ugly concrete or brick reflects the shine of the night far too well. Hyunjin is used to dirty and crude, or at least she’s grown up average at best with only the necessities being met. Her family was never well off – medical bills, pills, the funeral, they had all cost – and her father was never one for interior decoration regardless of circumstance.

  
Chills run through her back – it’s clear she doesn’t belong. Not with her ripped black jeans and oversized hoodie falling off her slender frame.

  
Tapping in the password given to her by Yeojin, she watches as lasers scan her person, imprinting her into the data system of the building to even the most minute detail. Detailed eyes of an owl peer down from where the automatic sensors of other buildings would be placed – red beams shoot down her figure, and despite the non-intrusive, completely unfeeling process, Hyunjin feels violated to her deepest core.

  
She hates leaving a trace – she’s fleeting, never permanent. And yet, this building now kept an imprint of her face and body within its encrypted servers, somewhere deep, deep inside the core of its thrumming walls.

_  
“Enter.” _ A mechanical voice, neither feminine nor masculine, sounds from the speaker next to the owl eyes. The sliding glass door opens, a blast of air conditioning slapping her across the face as she enters the lounge.

  
A man stands behind the desk, a concierge of sorts, and sends a polite smile her way. Hyunjin stiffens automatically, trying to ignore the creep in her skin at how sharp eyes pierce her figure. Her hold on her helmet tightens, knuckles whitening in an attempt to keep calm as she makes her way to the elevator.

  
The elevator is made of glass as well. The entirety of Seoul is visible as it shoots up to the eleventh floor where Yeojin lives.

  
The Spiral stands high. The building is pristine despite the still blackened base.

  
Hyunjin has never liked the Spiral.

  
Maybe it’s just her eyes, or maybe it’s just the mirage of dusk, but the building seems to hum, swaying ever so slightly in the air despite the lack of wind. It vibrates, as though alive, the edges always blurrier than the stationary background of Seoul and its accompanying mountains. 

  
She grimaces, suppressing the unease in her stomach.

  
The elevator dings as she arrives to the eleventh floor at record speed. The row of doors is sparse and in between, and from how long she has to walk from the elevator to Yeojin’s condominium, Hyunjin can already tell that the place is huge.

  
The door looms in front of her. Her raised hand stills in the air, a single finger outstretched.

  
She could run now.

  
She should run now – never look behind, never get involved with something.

  
( _ But she needs to know.) _

_  
(Why?) _

  
Taking a deep breath, Hyunjin rings the doorbell.

  
Yeojin answers in record time. Her finger barely lifts from the doorbell when the door is thrown wide open. The younger girl answers, appearing rather disheveled, her hair thrown into a single messy bun on top of her head, her clothes obviously gathered from the floor from the multiple creases that line the otherwise cute print of Mickey Mouse.

  
“You came.”

  
There’s wonder in her voice, confusion – as though Yeojin never expected for her to actually roll up.

  
“And you smell like chicken.”

  
The growing pit of guilt in her stomach softens at the last statement. She crinkles her nose, raising her hoodie sleeve to sniff. The lingering scent of chicken grease and fries waft from the fabric.

  
“Guess I do.”

  
They hesitate. Hyunjin shifts her weight from her left to right, and then back to her left. Yeojin seems hesitant, as though still in disbelief of her appearance. It’s a little uncomfortable, how deeply the girl stares at her, but eventually she’s allowed into the condo.

  
“Watch out for Gary,” Yeojin says, having detoured briefly into the kitchen to grab two glasses of water. Hyunjin mumbles a thanks, stepping over the Snail Roomba that starts to immediately follow her, eating up the trail of minute dirt specs she must have trailed in from the outside. “He once almost dissolved my foot because I didn’t wash my feet after playing in the mud.”

  
“Good to know,” Hyunjin mumbles, muttering a small thanks before stepping over the rather rancorous eating habits of the decorated Snail Roomba. She sits on one of the single plush chairs that line the living room. The chair is turned slightly to face a large flat-screen television that takes up almost the entirety of the wall, adjacent to the large windows that run ceiling to floor. She kicks her feet up on said chair when Gary wanders a little too close to her toes.

  
Yeojin eventually returns, handing her a glass of water before taking a seat on the couch opposite of where Hyunjin sits.

  
The awkward lull returns. Neither know how to break the silence.

  
Hyunjin opts to stare out the window. The sky had darkened, the last traces of the sun gone, hidden behind the blanket of clouds and the first traces of the stars that shine through the lights of the city. There aren’t as many stars in South Seoul as there are in the Borders, Hyunjin realizes, just the lights of the city – the lights of the people living, breathing, doing.

  
It feels strange.

  
(Yeojin, on the other hand, simply glances at Hyunjin’s figure, eyebrows knitting together at the sight of Hyunjin’s rather perplexed face.

  
She doesn’t question it though. The older girl had always been a sort of mystery.)

  
“So,” Yeojin starts quiet, slow. Uncertainty is clear in how her voice trembles at the beginning. “You’re here.”

  
Hyunjin takes her eyes off the neon pink lights that had distracted her earlier on the ride to Jamsil. Yeojin looks smaller, curled up on the sofa with a frog plushie clutched against her chest.

  
“I am.”

  
Hyunjin gnaws at her lower lip, desperately scavenging for words to continue the conversation. “Thanks for texting me. I was… worried you weren’t going to.”

  
“Yeah,” Yeojin shrugs, trying for the same nonchalant approach as Hyunjin, “Just wanted to know if you were okay.”

  
“I’m fine. Doing the usual.”

  
“Oh.”

  
Discomfort permeates the air once again. Hyunjin feels the agitation build in her stomach, and from the way Yeojin is tensed, she knows the younger feels the same.

  
Gary, the Snail Roomba, cuts between the two, eating up invisible flakes of dust on an already immaculate floor.

  
Hyunjin clears her throat. “So, Haseul is alive.”

  
“Yeah, I think so,” Yeojin nods, relief evident from the way her shoulders slide downwards. Perhaps this was the verbal confirmation she needed to hear from Hyunjin – that she believed her. “She sent me this code. I can show you?”

  
“Please.”

  
Hopping off the couch, Yeojin scrambles to what Hyunjin assumes in her room. The former shoots her a glance though before disappearing momentarily, as though afraid that Hyunjin would up and leave in the brief minute she couldn’t see her.

  
The same clawing guilt returns with vengeance when Yeojin returns to the living room with her laptop in hand, eyes rounded slightly in panic as an empty seat greets her return. Hyunjin waves her hand from her new place on the couch near where Yeojin originally sat. She flinches at the instant relief that floods the girl’s eyes as she realizes she was still here.

  
“Scoot,” Yeojin says, hopping over the coffee table, “Haseul sent me this over a gaming messenger that I didn’t even think she knew about since she never does anything remotely fun.”  


  
Hyunjin snorts, amused. “And? What does it say?”

  
“Honestly? I don’t really understand half of it,” Yeojin’s little fingers work fast, hitting shortcuts that Hyunjin doesn’t even know existed on the worn black keyboard. “Most of it is science-y mumbo jumbo that I think she worked on before the fire, and a whole bunch of dummy code that’s meant to act as a buffer – you know, so if anyone besides me found it, they would think it’s some spam and trash it immediately.”

  
A blank program pops from the screen. Hyunjin watches quietly as Yeojin switches tabs, the chaotic mess of opened messenger chats, a start portal for an online MMORPG that she recognizes only because one of her friends in the Borders to play the same thing, a half-watched YouTube video titled “ _3-hr compilation of tiks toks with vine energy_ ,” and an entire web browser dedicated to researching information on Fallen Angel and YYxY, disappears behind the white canvas. Lines of code start appear as Yeojin opens the file that Haseul had supposedly sent.

  
“I don’t understand a damn thing.”

  
Incoherent numbers and letters, phrases of different language Hyunjin can’t even name, flash across the screen. They’re strung together, though barely, indented in strange places that don’t look right even to someone as inexperience as herself, and spaced strangely as though the enter button was hit sporadically without thought.

  
“That’s the point,” Yeojin says, all too matter-of-factly, “It’s a code that only Haseul and I know. We made it together, at the foster home.”

  
“Oh,” Hyunjin states, watching as the program finally stills. “What does the last line say?”

  
Yeojin points at the first grouping, a “4-.”

  
“That spells F, since the four is next to a dash,” Hyunjin feels her head spin at the dizzying pace of Yeojin’s explanations coupled with nonsensical groupings.

  
“And? What does it say?” She cuts the girl off, curter than she needs to, but impatient is eating at her.

  
Yeojin frowns. “It says ‘Find Me.’”

  
“Find me?” Hyunjin feels the headache at the back of her head grow. “How do we do that?”

  
“I don’t know,” Yeojin shrugs, scrolling through the long code, careful not to touch any of the components. “I really don’t know.”

  
“She didn’t leave anything else? No clues, no hints? Just this?”

  
“Yeah. Just this.”

  
She suppresses a groan. “What now?”

  
Yeojin closes her laptop. “I don’t know. You’re the only person here that would believe me so.”

  
“Who else have you told?”

  
“No one. If it wasn’t serious, Haseul would have never used this.” Yeojin turns, her small face scrunched together in worry – fear. Hyunjin hopes her own similar emotions aren’t so readily available on her features. “Something is happening, Hyunjin. Something bad. I can feel it. Haseul needs me – us.”

  
Hyunjin chews at her lower lip again. Blood bursts from where she clamps down a little too hard, ripping off skin. She shouldn’t get involved.

  
She shouldn’t be here.

_  
(But she needs to know. She needs to find it.) _

  
“Okay. What do have so far?”

  
\--

  
Haseul – YYxY – Fallen Angel.

  
They’re all connected one way or another.

  
Yeojin offers what information she knows about YYxY, pulling out a moleskin notebook already halfway filled with information. A little space, containing a passcode locked flash drive, is carved out from the pages of the thick notebook. Yeojin said, with a proud puff of her chest, it contained a program that could override any electric lock.

  
“It’s the largest manufacturer of BioTech products, and they essentially have a monopoly on the technology and process that combines biological, or natural functions, with the technological,” Yeojin says as they head downstairs. They had agreed that the scene of the crime would most likely be the best place to return to – YYxY connected Haseul and the culprit after all. Perhaps Haseul had left something there before it burnt down. “Gary, the bat cars, firefly lights, everything. They’re all YYxY.”

  
“I know,” Hyunjin says, trying to channel the rush of Yeojin’s words into something a little more useful. “What else do you know that isn’t available on their public page?”

  
Yeojin hits the elevator button, closing the doors before another couple who lives next door could enter.

  
“Haseul said something about there being some in-fighting. Apparently, the main family, the Ha’s, don’t particularly get along with one another. Yves, the pretty lady in all their commercials, hates her father or something.”

  
“Interesting _chaebol_ drama, but anything else?”

  
Yeojin taps her chin, “They’re the leaders of human-animal beautification?”

  
“No idea what that means,” Hyunjin sighs. The elevator door opens.

  
“Hi Mr. Jung,” Yeojin says, waving cheerfully at the man at the desk before matching steps with Hyunjin out the front door towards the street where her bike is parked. “It’s the trend nowadays. Adding little bits of animal parts for aesthetics – it’s like plastic surgery, sort of. Jinsol, one of Haseul’s friends, has sparkly blue scales from behind her near down the side of her neck. It’s illegal until you’re of age, and they don’t do anything really except make you look nicer. Jinsol’s scales are super cool – but she always has to moisturize them since they’re not really meant for, you know, land.”

  
“Okay,” Hyunjin says in response, ignoring the later ramblings of the younger girl.

  
“Yeah! They apparently can also enhance stuff, too – you know, like if you get cheetah injected into you, you can run faster, and all that stuff. But you can’t play sports or anything competitively if you do – and I’m actually pretty sure that’s illegal unless with special permission. Or at least, that’s what Haseul said when I asked her if I could get spider injected so I could be like Spiderman. And she also said that people who do too much become Ferals – more animal than human.”

  
“I’m familiar with them,” Hyunjin interjects, mostly to stop Yeojin from continuing her digression than to continue the conversation. “Anyways, here, take the helmet.”

  
She tosses the heavy bike helmet, pulling out another spare from the space beneath her seat. “Hold on tight, don’t let go, and for god’s sake, don’t scream. Got it?”

  
Yeojin stares, slack mouthed, wide-eyed at her bike.

  
“We’re gonna die before we even start.”

  
Hyunjin rolls her eyes, taking the helmet from Yeojin’s hands and throwing it carelessly onto her the girl’s head. “Shut up and get on.”

  
\--

  
The drive to YYxY’s Spiral is quick.

  
Most of the roads around the area remains blocked for construction purposes. Police investigations, vandals, and the number of curious onlookers who wished to peek inside the elusive YYxY had all delayed the repairment process. What was promised to have been fixed still remains stained with inerasable soot smeared across otherwise pristine walls.

  
Yeojin, much to Hyunjin’s pleasure, had kept silent the whole ride, only letting out a single “ _ whoop!” _ of delight when they sped past a car trailing in the middle of the road, and down the sloped hills of Seoul.

  
“Two rules,” she says as they take off the helmets, bike parked far enough to be shrouded by the shadows of an alleyway. Hyunjin crouches, locking her bike with her regular system, “One: no shouting, and we definitely do not talk above a whisper. Two: if sirens come, we’re leaving immediately. Got it?”

  
“You got it!” Yeojin nods, already breaking rule one. She looks more excited than fearful at the prospect of breaking and entering. Hyunjin groans internally.

  
“Shut it.”

  
Yeojin throws her hands over her mouth. “You got it,” she whispers, quieter this time.

  
“Jesus Christ, we’re fucked.”

  
Whether Yeojin hears or not doesn’t matter as she pulls out gloves from her black jacket pocket. A black facemask adorns the bottom half of her face, effectively covering the entirety of her visage – if Hyunjin weren’t so preoccupied rolling her eyes at the over-the-top method, she would have thought the little one impressive for having thought this far ahead. Perhaps she isn’t completely useless.

  
“I have an extra?” Yeojin mumbles, the facemask effectively muting her words to a tolerable volume. “Want it?”

  
“Sure,” Hyunjin says, sliding on her own, adjusting it so the fabric pressed tight against her nose, squishing the tip ever so slightly. Yeojin beams, or that’s what she assumes from what little she can see from behind the mask, and waits, stalling her bouncing feet as she waits for Hyunjin to take charge.

  
Past the rubble, past the marks of the fire; it’s as what one would predict.

  
They can’t get too close, the security roaming around with beams of their flashlight, and the CCTVs gathered around the edges of the building make it near impossible to properly infiltrate the area. Even Yeojin, and all her master technology and self-proclaimed hacking skills fall short of real interventions that would allow proximity, so the two fall short of their target with a frustrated sigh.

  
“Are you sure we can’t get any closer?” Hyunjin says, her toes never having left the edges of shrubbery that decorate the perimeter of the Spiral. “No underground passage, no secret entryway?”

  
Yeojin frowns, pulling out her phone and opening a sketch of a rather interpretive drawing of the Spiral in front. “If we can get to the lab entrance, I can get us in. But the problem is getting there.”

  
Another security guard sweeps past. Clad in all black and at least six feet tall, the man makes for a formidable figure – strong, too. Even with her experience fending off the wild scavenger in the Borders, Hyunjin would never attempt to take on a risk like him. She’s strong – but not strong enough to kill a man with her bare hands. She could, however, run fast.

  
Very fast.

  
“We’re not killing anyone.” She says before Yeojin can open her mouth. “But I can run.”

  
\--

  
Perhaps acting as a decoy was never her best plan, but Hyunjin was never the thinking type. She prefers to take orders, living her life quietly, day-by-day with little expectations.

  
That’s how she’s been for the last three years after all.

  
But the adrenaline she’s long forgotten kicks in when she stands, taking a deep breathe.

  
( _ “I can run, climb, anything. The CCTVs will catch you, but if you keep your mask on, no one will know who you are. Get in there. Hack the door, get whatever you can. I’ll join you ten minutes max. But if I don’t make it, you have to sneak out and get back home, got it?” _ )

  
Yeojin stares at her from where she’s crouched, body bent almost in half. Fear is evident.

  
It seems to be an automatic response for Yeojin. Hyunjin doesn’t have time to contemplate why when she finally catches the attention of the two guards wandering around the lawn, tasers and batons raised.

  
“Hey! You can’t be here!”

  
Hyunjin let’s them triangulate. The two men approach her from an equal distance apart, a perfect triangle where she is the tip, the center of it all. The one on her left is bigger – a lumbering presence with rippling muscles she can assume from how tight his black suit hits him. He carries a taser in his hand. The other, leaner, with a narrow nose and sharp eyes that look as though someone took their palms and squished his features together, carries a baton.

  
He appears to be the weaker of the two.

  
“Go,” she hisses, kicking at Yeojin’s sole. The little one scampers left. Hyunjin dashes right.

  
“Hey!”

  
She tilts on her feet, her weight distributed almost fully to her left as she pivots sharply, ducking beneath the outstretched arms of the leaner man. The baton barely grazes past her shoulder – a glancing blow. She grimaces; the thing barely touched her, and yet she could feel the force of the hit.

  
One hit, and it was over.

  
Jumping over the boulders that lined the path of the main entrance, Hyunjin pivots again, this time right.

  
( _ “Dribbling is a skill!”  _ her coach had said,  _ “If you can’t control your legs, then it’s over.”) _

  
Left, right, jump, left, pivot.

  
She weaves an intricate pattern, the men chasing behind her in a wild goose chase. She runs towards the entrance, opposite of Yeojin.

  
The men are fast.

  
She’s faster.

  
Her lungs burn. The muscles of her leg tense and clench, pure adrenaline coursing through her veins. Blood rushes up to her ear, and suddenly the world is mute except for the pumping of her heart and the breath leaving her tongue.

  
The lights brighten.

  
Swooping low, she grabs a loose rock on the edge of the path. It imprints itself deeply against her gloved hand, though she refuses to relax her grip. The entrance of YYxY with its sleek logo looms in front of her. Yeojin, she sees in the corner of her eye, is still tucked beneath the entrance of the basement laboratories.

  
Two small fingers raise in a “V.”

_  
Two minutes _ .

  
The crackle of a taser is audible despite how far away the bearish man is from her. Hyunjin feels her skin prickle at the proximity of electricity, the fine hairs of her arms raised.

  
The entrance is there. The vibrating walls, alive with something. The edges of the building blur, as though preparing for her.

  
She raises the rock. It’s heavy, sharp at the edges that dig into calloused skin. Something warm rolls down her hand and into her sleeve, but she doesn’t think of it as she pounds slams the thing against the entrance of YYxY.

  
She slams the doors of the Spiral Tower, rock in hand.

  
The crackle of electricity strengthens.

  
It’s not the taser.

  
Her arm rebounds almost immediately, as though burned. Her hands fly open, the rock flying behind her as the cracked glass immediately starts repairing itself, rearranging the shattered cells into a symmetrical pattern to strengthen the weakness. Sparks fly between the open glass shards, blue and bright.

_  
Oh god. _

  
Something smells burnt. A dull buzzing sensation engulfs her entire body – a sharp stinging pain in her arm.

  
“Get away from there!” The guards have closed in again. Cursing, she fumbles, legs suddenly weak.

  
She runs. The guards run. They’re faster this time, her muscles refusing to cooperate.

  
( _ “Go Hyunjin!”  _ Heejin cheers from the bleachers above.  _ “You got this! Just a little more!” _ )

  
Hyunjin grits her teeth. She slams her fist against the tightened muscles of her thigh, bruising the skin, popping the vessels beneath with force. They cave beneath her demand, loosening by brute strength alone.

_  
Just a little more _ .

  
The baton whooshes behind her again, though it’s close enough that it delivers a tap to her shoulder. Her body caves accordingly in response.

  
Hyunjin rolls, feeling her knees cave in as she’s forced into a somersault to avoid another swipe of the baton. The man, blurred in her vision, reaches behind, arm poised for another stunning blow.

  
“Get the fuck away from her!”

  
The appearance of another voice startles the two guards. The slower of the two, the one with a taser, lumbers forward towards Yeojin, his too slow body unable to keep up with the demands of his brain. His large size inhibits his speed, and Yeojin, mask and all, carrying a bundle of what looks like manila folders in her arms, shoots towards the edge of the forest, scampering away with a speed she never knew the little one possessed. Hyunjin, using the distraction to her advantages, pushes the entirety of her strength into her feet.

  
Her palms press against the dirt. Her legs are close, knees pressing against her chest. And with one last effort, she propels herself to the woods with a single kick to the man’s knee.

  
He howls in pain. The baton comes crashing down, barely missing her as she pivots again, balancing on the edge of her sneakers before righting herself almost immediately.

_  
Just a little more _ .

  
The pounding in her heart is erratic.

  
She doesn’t know if she’s breathing anymore.

  
All that matters is that Yeojin lives.

  
She has to.

  
She has to live.

  
Haseul is waiting for her.

  
Hyunjin makes it past the shrubbery. She runs down the uneven path of the woods, hands brushing aside the sticks that scratch at her skin. Something gets caught – her jacket sleeve, but she rips it free.

  
She runs for what seems like hours.

  
The lawn and ring of trees meld back into the cityscape. A drunken “Hey!” stops her momentarily, but she pushes the man aside before continuing her pace.

  
Her chest expands as neon takes the place of nature, and for once, she’s thankful of the artificial lights that cloud her vision.

_  
And Yeojin? _

  
Her feet finally still at the edge of the main road. A couple of people glance at her ruined figure, but she pays them no mind. Ripping off her black mask, she crumples it, tossing it to a nearby trash bin before dipping the closest path behind the main streets – away from the watchful eyes of the CCTVs.

  
Hyunjin glances at the clock.

  
Another three minutes and she’ll circle back around.

  
But for now, she lets her body slump against concrete, hoodie pulled up around her face. She could pass of as a drunkard, taking a nap. Her right arm continues the steady thrum of pain, and her right knee is pounding, threatening to buckle at any given moment.

  
She hasn’t run this much since her last match. Before the accident.

  
“Ow,” Hyunjin groans, clenching her fist and opening them only to feel the lines of skin break at any action. The rock had cut her badly from how hard she had clamped her hand around it, and the blood had slid down, absorbed by the fabric of her tattered gloves and sleeve.

  
She lets her head loll backwards. Another minute.

  
“Fuck.”

  
\--

  
Yeojin is there when she finally makes her way.

  
“You’re alive!”

  
It’s said a little too loudly for Hyunjin’s weakened self, but she appreciates the sentiment nevertheless.

  
Yeojin, in comparison to her scratched up form, appearing relatively unscathed minus a single red line on her cheek that mars her pale skin. Concern, relief, and anxiousness simultaneously flood her features.

  
Hyunjin frowns, her eyes preoccupied on the single scratch on the girl’s face.

  
“You good?”

  
“Yeah! Yeah, I’m okay, but you,” Yeojin trails off, scanning Hyunjin’s tattered form with alarm. “We should get you to the hospital.”

  
“And have them ask questions?” Hyunjin snorts, “No.”

  
“But –“

  
“No, Yeojin.”

  
“You’re bleeding!”

  
Hyunjin snaps. Her patience is wearing thin as exhaustion settles into her bones. ( _ “Let people take care of you _ ,” Heejin had said long ago. She still hasn’t learned the lesson well). “Shut up! Let’s just go back to your place. Hop on or I leave you here.”

  
Yeojin flinches. She looks hurt.

  
Hyunjin’s too tired to feel bad.

  
“Here,” she says gruffly, handing the helmet over to the girl. “Put it on.”

  
Yeojin does as ordered.

  
The ride back is silent.

  
\--

  
Hyunjin wants to hide from the eyes of the owl camera that fixates on her. The process is quicker this time, her information already imprinted in the system.

  
She hates it.

  
Yeojin says nothing until they return. She’s dressed back in her normal clothes, the two having stopped midway to change clothes to deter suspicion.

  
Hyunjin doesn’t feel too comfortable in a black turtleneck with no sleeves, but it’s the only thing Haseul had in her apartment that fit her without hurting her damaged arm.

  
She lets Yeojin hop into the shower first, fatigue knocking her out for a solid twenty minutes before Yeojin nudges her awake.

  
“Shower?”

  
She’s handed a clean towel and some oversized shirt and a shower – probably Hasuel’s again.

  
“Yeah.” She wouldn’t make it back home in this condition. Better to crash here. “Thanks.”

  
\--

  
“Did you know about the electricity?”

  
Yeojin gives her a confused look, “Electricity?”

  
“Yeah,” Hyunjin grimaces, pointing to her arm – burned patches of skin dot her hand and the tips off her fingertips. Red discoloration paints the rest of her forearm. “It’s alive.”

  
“No way,” Yeojin peers closer at the wounds, jaw-dropping, “I didn’t… No, I had no idea it was electric. I’ve been there before – and it’s never… It’s never been electric. It must be new.”

  
Hyunjin narrows her eyes but says nothing.

  
“I hate that fucking building,” Yeojin says, placing the gathered manila folders on the coffee table before entering the bathroom to grab the first-aid kit Haseul had stashed a long time ago. “It’s creepy as hell.”

  
“It’s alive,” Hyunjin says, recalling the glass – how it had moved into place, how it had hissed almost angrily at her, shards pointed her way. “And it almost killed me.”

  
Yeojin returns with a rather hefty looking first-aid kit (“Haseul likes being overprepared for every scenario”), setting the thing down and motioning for Hyunjin to scoot closer. The latter obliges, though still suspicious.

  
“It must be their first BioTech building. Of course, it all makes sense.” The rip of a bandage punctuates Yeojin’s ramblings. Hyunjin stares, confused.

  
“They have BioTech buildings now?”

  
“Yeah, I overheard them talking to one of the reporters at the fire. Apparently, it’s based off a jellyfish since they can rearrange their cells to achieve symmetry after it’s been attacked. It fits with what you’ve said,” Yeojin grimaces at the angry red streaks down Hyunjin’s arm. Hyunjin almost cries in relief as a cooling salve lessens the painful burns. “That must be the cause of your electric burns.”

  
“So, I almost got electrocuted from a fucking jellyfish building.”

  
“Yeah.”

  
“I fucking hate that building.”

  
Yeojin cracks a smile. “Haseul’s never liked it either.”

  
“Haseul was always smart.”

  
“True. Child genius after all.”

  
Hyunjin snorts, tired, aching. All she wants is to lie down and sleep forever. But curiosity pushes her forward with the conversation. “So, what’d you get?”

  
For once she’s grateful for Yeojin’s ability to ramble. The girl talks even when unprompted. It’s a good distraction from the steadily growing ache in her muscles, the black dots of unconsciousness dancing in her vision.

  
“A couple of folders. They were in a fire-proof case, but I know all of Haseul’s passwords. I got to look through most of them while you were taking a shower and honestly, it’s… strange.”

  
“Strange,” Hyunjin echoes, eyebrows knitting together. “In what way?”

  
Yeojin shrugs, taking one of the thicker, paper-clipped files out of the pile and flipping it open. White paper with frayed edges scatters the couch as Yeojin places it all in the correct order. She holds up one of the single sheets – a picture of a pretty girl is placed in the upper right corner, the rest of the paper filled with scientific jargon Hyunjin barely can pronounce nevertheless understand.

  
“Vivi. An android.”

  
“An android. How is that supposed to help,” Hyunjin takes the paper from Yeojin’s hand. The android looks human. Uncannily so. She shudders. “Probably burnt to a crisp in the fire, right?”

  
Yeojin shakes her head, “No. I’ve never seen her in the lab before, and I’ve been there often. Jinsol’s never talked about it either, and I doubt she’d know anything about it since she works in the marine biology sector.”

  
“So, what? We find this android or something? I didn’t even know YYxY worked on androids.”

  
“They don’t.” Yeojin bites her lower lip, eyes hooded as she scans the papers. “They don’t work on anything remotely human AI – or, at least, they shouldn’t be. Human BioTech is illegal.”

  
“But the android?” Hyunjin frowns.

  
Yeojin shrugs. “Definitely illegal.”

  
She collapses back onto the couch, head hitting the soft throw pillow against the side.

  
“Well, let’s go find that android.”

  
\--

  
Hyunjin doesn’t know where she is when she wakes up.

  
Her head pounds in pain, body still exhausted from electrocution and the physical exertion. Disoriented and confused, she attempts to sit up, only to be pushed back down by a gentle hand. A distorted voice lulls her back to sleep.

  
It’s low.

  
“Go back to sleep, Hyunjin.”

  
Hyunjin grumbles, eyes closing almost on command. Heejin’s face imprints themselves behind closed eyelids.

  
“Okay,” she says, voice soft and airy. “Okay, Heejin.”

  
\--

  
Something tickling her foot wakes her up the second time.

  
Hyunjin grumbles, kicking the thing away weakly, only for the hissing to continue. A slimy sort of liquid burns her skin, and she growls, arching her foot upwards stronger this time.

  
“Good morning—whoa!” Yeojin’s startled voice follows the sounds of a crash and more angry hissing. “Why the hell did you kick Gary?!”

  
“Fuck Gary,” she grunts, pulling the blanket around her shoulder and turning onto her side. “What time is it?”

  
“Three in the afternoon.”

  
Hyunjin frowns. Her eyes open slowly, the bright afternoon sun filtering through opened windows. “How long was I out for?”

  
“At least fifteen hours?” Yeojin says. She crouches, righting the foaming Snail Roomba and sending the bastard creation on its way. Hyunjin wishes she kicked the thing a little further. “Did you sleep well?”

  
“I guess,” she sits up, letting the blanket fall off her naturally before rubbing at raw eyes. Her arm feels better, though the tips of her fingers still tingle at any movement. She stretches, extending her fingers gingerly – wincing at the pain that glances through – before clenching them into fists. She repeats the movement.

  
Yeojin watches with curiosity from the chair she’s sitting in. Glasses perched on her nose slide forward slightly as she tilts her head forward, a stack of papers pressed against her chest.

  
“I did find some stuff while you were asleep though.”

  
“Oh?”

  
Hyunjin quirks a brow. The sleep, the deepest she had experienced in years, had definitely aided in clearing her head. Her body is still tired, recovering from having almost died the previous night, but at least her mind is sharp.

  
Yeojin flips through the papers, pulling out the needed stacks. There’s a small square band-aid covering the scratch on her cheek. It’s not too bad, Hyunjin realizes with a little twinge of guilt in her stomach, just a little scratch.

  
At least Yeojin is still alive.

  
“Yeah,” The younger continues, unaware of Hyunjin’s stare. The latter rips her gaze away, opting to poke her feet at the Snail Roomba that comes too close to her feet again. “Found coordinates. Haseul used the same code, but in a geometric sequence with each word equaling one number. It was a pain to count, but I eventually got it.”

  
“Smart.”

  
Yeojin crinkles her nose, proud. “I did get the highest math grade in my whole school.”

  
“Nerd.”

  
“At least I can do math, gay idiot.”

  
Hyunjin flushes, “Fuck off.”

  
“Knew it,” Yeojin smirks, promptly ignoring the barrage of insults Hyunjin sends her way. “Anyways, coordinates that point to a place that I didn’t know exists. It’s in North Seoul, somewhere, near Achasan.”

  
Hyunjin feels her blood run cold. That fucking mountain.

  
The same one where they found Heejin.

  
The one where Hyunjin was waiting when it happened.

  
“Oh?” Her voice comes out terse, brusquer than she wants it to sound.

  
( _ The moon was especially bright that night. The starry skies beautiful. _ )

  
Yeojin throws her a glance but leaves it alone, “Yeah. And there’s some information about Vivi too. But I’m not too familiar with AI. What I can grasp is that she’s one of a kind, using some sort of nanotechnology and gel-like substance to create a mimicry of the human brain. It was originally developed in Hong Kong, and patented at a university there, but I’m not quite sure why or how Haseul has this…”

  
“So? Is this android a human then or what?”

  
“Well,” Yeojin shrugs. “Maybe. Speech patterns are fully developed, and to an extent, according to the test results of these graphs,” Hyunjin looks at the charts that Yeojin hands her. Only a couple of words like “speech-pattern recognition” and “emotional processes” stand out amongst the tiny font. “It seems she could pass as one. I think she might know where Haseul is.”

  
Hyunjin frowns. “Don’t you think this might be coincidental?”

  
“Then why would this, of all things, be placed in a fireproof lock? Haseul knew this was going to happen – she planned this, Hyunjin. She’s not the careless type.”

  
“But why would an android of all things be placed here? And how did no one else get to the firelock before us? There’s been YYxY workers crawling through there every day.”

  
Yeojin hesitates. “I… I don’t know. But, she left this for me on purpose. I know she did, Hyunjin. We have to go find Vivi.”

  
“The android.” Hyunjin sighs. The determination is clear in Yeojin’s eyes. Hyunjin can’t muster the strength to fight against it. “Let’s go find the stupid robot.”

  
\--

  
The lab is located off a mountain path Hyunjin knows too well.

  
Her bike is left chained at the base of the mountain, near a convenience store. The old man who owns it waves her a greeting, offering snacks for their journey. She dips her head politely, declining the potato chips they both know were Heejin’s favorite.

  
Yeojin gives her a confused expression as they hike up the relatively abandoned path. It’s overgrown and clearly unmaintained.

  
“How do you know about this place?”

  
Hyunjin shrugs.

  
“You just follow the moon.”

  
Yeojin doesn’t ask.

  
Hyunjin suppresses the urge to cry the entire way.

  
\--

  
Luckily, they veer from the top and end up on a maintenance road. Most likely constructed to aid the implementation and upkeep of cable towers. They hop a simple metal gate with the warning “Authorized Personnel Only” and continue walking until they reach another door – an entrance to a bunker. “Electrical Equipment,” the plain white and red sign reads back, probably to hold the generator for the North Seoul lights.

  
“It’s here.”

  
Yeojin glances around, the beeping in her cellphone having announced their location. The application she uses is thrown around in multiple VPNs, and Hyunjin though doesn’t really understand the logistics of it all, she trusts Yeojin enough that she would keep the two hidden in Internet anonymity.

  
“Where?”

  
There’s nothing out of the ordinary besides the cliff wall and the mountain forest. The locked door of the bunker looms.

  
Yeojin echoes her confusion. “It just says we’ve arrived?”

  
“Did you type in a number wrong? Let me see,” Hyunjin peers over, trying to reach for the device in Yeojin’s hand. The girl lets her, opting to press her hands against the side of the cliff and the dirt below.

  
“Maybe it’s this door? It has to be.”

  
“It’s a locked bunker.”

  
“I’m aware,” Yeojin snaps back, snarky. Hyunjin bristles.

  
She clamps her mouth shut, opting to kick at the mountain side once before making her way back to Yeojin.

  
“Can we bust it open?”

  
“I don’t think so. It’s built to be resilient against landslides too, so, it’s probably made of strong stuff. Reinforced steel, definitely.”

  
“So,” Hyunjin sighs, pressing her palm against the bunker door. “No way in?”

  
“Nothing I can hack into, no. Sorry.”

  
They mill around the clearing. No signs of hidden buttons, no hidden flips. Nature greets them at every turn, and with it, the changing of sunrise to sunset. The suffocating heat swelters in humidity as the cloud covers the rays, fully allowing for perspiration to hit their already sweaty skin.

  
Yeojin is off to the side, lying down beneath the shade of a large tree. Her device still remains in her hand, little thumbs texting furiously.

  
Hyunjin remains at the bunker door. The shape is as any regular safety sign: rectangular in shape, the sharp edges of metal ground to a straight line. The colors are the same too, though faded by age and rust, the usual red against white.

  
“Strange.”

  
One of the letters is discolored, more so than the rest. The tips of the “T” of “Equipment” hovers just barely above the rest of the sign, creating enough space for a sheet of paper to slide through. It’s hardly noticeable.

  
Clever.

  
Hyunjin scrapes her fingernail against the peeling metal. The reddened skin, lacerated from electricity, reflects angrily at her. She ignores the buzz of pain that radiates from her nerves as she stretches out her fingers, pulling the metal away from the sign.

  
There’s resistance at first, but it slides through. A creak punctuates the tacky air.

  
Yeojin startles, sitting up, her hands scrambling against the grass as she darts to the bunker door.

  
“What are you doing?”

  
“The metal lifted upwards more than the rest. So, I just lifted it?”

  
Yeojin scowls. “The simplest answer is always the right one.”

  
The bunker door swings up. Another door with a keypad and a USB insert presents itself.

  
“Now this,” Yeojin says with a smirk, pulling the encrypted USB around her neck off, “I can do.”  
  


Hyunjin watches as the USB immediately bursts into color. The small keypad on the USB blinks yellow once, and then green. A moment passes in quiet as numbers light up. The one blinks red four times in intervals of three seconds before the USB quiets.

  
Yeojin pulls it out, placing it back around her neck as she punches in the numbers into the door.

  
“One, one, one, one.”

  
Hyunjin raises a brow. So much for genius Jo Haseul. “That’s an easy password.”

  
“It’s my birthday,” Yeojin says. Hyunjin can hear how the girl’s voice drops ever so slightly.

  
It feels like a punch to the gut.

  
“Oh.” She falters, at a loss for words as the second door slides upwards, revealing a set of stairs that lead downwards into a mountain cavern.

  
“Haseul’s an idiot,” Yeojin whispers. The sound of her voice echoes, bouncing off the tunnel straight into their ears. They both stay silent on the descent. Neither want to speak – neither can, lost in introspection as they take the steps down.

  
Nothing, not even the murmurs of their heart, are quiet in this passage.

  
It’s suffocating.

  
This mountain is suffocating.

  
Hyunjin hasn’t been here since Heejin died.

  
There are too many memories.

_  
(“I want to give you something,” _ is what Heejin had said last when she called her, bright laughter ringing in Hyunjin’s ears,  _ “Meet me at the place?”) _

  
Yeojin’s already small stature diminishes in the shadows that eat at the edges of her outline. Hyunjin concentrates on the single bun that sits on top of her head, bouncing slightly to the rhythm of her steps.

  
Maybe Yeojin is thinking of Haseul too.

  
They were always close.

_  
(She had waited on top for so long. She had waited until her fingers turned blue from the cold of winter, the tip of her nose running already. She had waited until she heard, and when she heard, it was too late. _

_  
Hyunjin would never know what Heejin wanted to give her. She should have insisted they go up together. She should have never left her home that day. She should have never shown Heejin this stupid mountain spot.) _

  
Yeojin stops. Hyunjin almost crashes into her back.

  
“We’re here.”

  
\--

  
For a secret mountain laboratory, the place remains relatively bare.

  
Computers line one corner of the rectangular room, and a small kitchen filled with only a single refrigerator, microwave oven, and stovetop take up another wall. A door, she assumes is to the bathroom, is placed parallel of the kitchen, and a single mattress thrown haphazardly on the floor is a bed.

  
However, it’s not the array of wires sticking out of every wall, strewn across the floor that captures her attention. Nor is it the array of the 3D printers and the other blinking machinery that line the wall adjacent to the mattress.

  
No. Hyunjin’s left breathless, staring at the sleep steel table in the middle, padded with white cushions. Yeojin follows her gaze. Her jaw drops.

  
Hyunjin doesn’t know what to do.

  
Not when a girl is lying in the middle of the table.

  
“Is that…” Yeojin starts. She quiets halfway through.

  
Hyunjin finishes.  


  
“That’s Vivi.”

  
Yeojin scrambles forward, the confirmation of the android sending her body lurching forward as though she had been pushed from behind. Hyunjin follows similarly, her own feet carrying her to the edge of the table, her eyes trained on Vivi’s face.

  
She looks exactly like the photo.

  
“She looks… so human.”

  
Yeojin pokes at the android’s cheek. Hyunjin slaps her finger away, eyes narrowed. Vivi continues to lie motionless, her entire body still.

  
She is beautiful. Ethereal.

  
Vivi is carved perfectly – the physical flaws of a human unknown to the android’s visage. She is, and always will, be flawless.

  
Hyunjin frowns.

  
The quirk of a barely-present smile settled on Vivi’s lips is unsettling at best.

  
“How do we turn her on?” Yeojin asks, breaking the silence as her hands start rummaging through the area. She ducks and weaves, prancing around the room like a child.

  
“Don’t touch anything.” Hyunjin growls.

  
Yeojin presses a button on the hard drive of the master computer.

  
The computers whirl.

  
The younger one throws her a sheepish smile. “Too late.”

  
The black screens turn to blue turn to white. The logo “YYxY” appears on all the computers, the words “A New Era” rotating slowly beneath. Yeojin stays by her side the entire time, hand gripped on her jacket sleeve.

  
The screen blackens.

  
They suck in a breath.

  
Hyunjin feels her chest cave as an empty black script appears.

  
Vivi remains lying on the table, unmoving.

  
Yeojin tugs at her sleeve. “Do you mind if I… check it out?”

  
“Yeah. Do what you have to do.”

  
Hyunjin watches as Yeojin plants herself in the rolling chair, pushing herself so she’s in front of the main monitor. She clicks around cautiously, unsure at first, but increasingly faster when nothing explodes.

  
“It’s just a programming computer – or that’s what Haseul seems to be using it for,” Yeojin says. Hyunjin grunts, simply grateful for an explanation. “There’s a script here so…”

  
Yeojin clicks. Hyunjin gapes at the lines of code that suddenly explode in front of her – pages upon pages are filled with the code; variables, actions, all layered in a command that she can’t quite grasp.

  
The other remains unfazed, her eyes scanning the script stoically, “Perfect as usual. Alright… now to press…”

  
Yeojin hovers her finger dramatically over the “R” key.

  
Hyunjin near explodes from impatience.

  
“Just press the damn thing!”

  
“Okay, okay!” Yeojin laughs, a playful smile on her lips, “ _ Now _ we press run!”

  
It goes. The latter half of the screen, previously empty, fills with words, scrolling upwards too rapidly for her to read.

  
The script runs for seconds, but it feels like an hour.

  
And then it ends.

  
“What now?” Hyunjin waits for something, anything, to happen on the screens. Any of them.

  
They both glance back at the table. Vivi remains stagnant.

  
Nothing.

  
Yeojin is equally confused. “I don’t know.”

  
“Should we… run something else?”

  
“Haseul doesn’t seem to have anything else on here – or at least, nothing noticeable. They’re all in encrypted folders, and it would take me a moment to hack into them.”

  
“But you can do it?”

  
Yeojin smirks, cracking her knuckles for dramatic effect.

  
“’Course I can.”

  
“No need.”

  
A third voice joins the fray. Hyunjin whips around, her body acting on instinct as her hand reaches into the inner breast pocket, grasping at her switchblade. Yeojin startles, the chair rattling as it slides backwards, hitting the edge of the desk.

  
Vivi’s eyes are open.

  
She twists her head first; the rest of her body is slow to respond. A single arm is pushed behind her, propelling her body upwards into a sitting position. Vivi’s actions, Hyunjin thinks, as she watches the android smile at them, as though amused, are human.

  
From how she tilts her head – how she brushes back pink hair behind her shoulders – how she sits up gently, calmly, as though waking up from a long restful nap. She even yawns, her jaw opening slowly as she stretches her back and arm upwards.

  
All these mundane actions captured so perfectly.

  
Vivi is an android.

  
Yet she feels so real.

  
Hyunjin is captivated.

  
Vivi continues her easy smile. Her eye folds into crescents, gentle, beautiful.

  
God, she’s so beautiful.

  
“You made it. I’ve been expecting you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i rly. just sat down and hashed this all out. i'm so tired omg, i apologize for how it sort of fizzes out at the end.
> 
> posted w/out editing.

**Author's Note:**

> twitter/cc: chuchuuwuo
> 
> and as always, thank you for reading


End file.
